Real Love: The Forever Kind
by kryscrossed
Summary: Elijah and Hannah had a love that most people envied. It wasn't the perfect life, but it was the perfect love. When haunts from his past start showing up in Elijah's life, he starts to loose his grip on the things he cherishes most in life.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

_Every hundred years or so, a love comes around that is so true, and so pure, it can withstand anything. It is Real Love. The forever kind. And it's not as common as you would be led to believe by those dime novels. Most people will never witness it in their lifetimes, let alone experience it. I was lucky enough to witness Real Love first hand, and I will never forget it. _

_She wasn't a fairytale princess, and he wasn't a heroic knight in shining armor. At least, not on the outside. She was a ribbon girl, and he was an orphan turned jack of all trades. The poorest of the poor, street trash to those members of high society who thought worth was measured by a pocket full of money, and home on the Upper East Side._

_Their story has slipped through the cracks of time, and I feel, as a witness, it is my personal duty to make sure it never dies. So I'm going to tell you exactly what happened, all those years ago. In my own words, and in the words of my best friend, who was indeed, the princess who wasn't a princess. _


	2. Chapter One

_**Chapter One**_

****

Elijah 'Bolt' Henderson drew in a long drag through his cigarette, allowing the smoke to burn his throat and lungs, before finally pushing it out through his lips. He rested his hand on the brick ledge, the only barrier between him and the forty-something foot drop off the side of the roof. He watched the smoke curling up from the glowing tip of the cigarette, lost in a sea of thoughts.

He was brought back to reality by the sound of shoes clanging up the iron of the fire escape.

"Elijah?"

Bolt turned at the sound of her voice, tossing his spent cigarette on the floor and stomping it out. The shadows in his eyes were momentarily pushed away, and a small smile found it's way to his lips, "Hannah."

"What're you doing up here?" She asked, crossing the roof to stand next to him, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth, "It's freezing."

He didn't answer, but pulled her into his embrace, leaning back against the wall, and clasping his hand around his own wrist, locking her into his hold. Hannah leaned back, resting the back of her head on his chest, and appreciating his warmth.

Bolt buried his face into her hair, breathing in her scent. Standing so close to her made the decision he was being forced to make even more difficult.

Hannah remained silent for a moment, before her curiosity got the better of her, even though she had been enjoying the quiet moment, "So?"

"So, what?" Bolt questioned, his voice muffled by her hair.

"So what are you doing up here? And smoking, at that. I could smell it the second I came onto the roof." Hannah replied, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Bolt grimaced, "Sorry. I was just feeling a little stressed, that's all." He had begun smoking almost a year ago, an attempt to take his mind off the hunger and cold he often felt as a result of being poor. He knew Hannah hated it, she couldn't stand the smell, so he had done his best to quit. Because, truth be told, if Hannah asked him to jump off a bridge, he would do it in a heartbeat, just to make her happy. Every once in a while though, the merciless grip of addiction would find a hold again, and he'd fall back into the habit.

Hannah twisted her neck, straining to see his face in the darkness, "What are you stressed about?" she asked, concern instantly written on her face. Bolt wasn't one who was easily stressed out. In fact, he was the most easy-going guy she'd ever known. It was like nothing could fluster him

Bolt sighed heavily, avoiding her gaze, "It's nothing, Hannah. Don't worry," He kissed her forehead, allowing his lips to linger for a moment. "C'mon, it's getting late, I'll walk you home."

Hannah nodded, slipping from his grasp, and taking his proffered elbow instead, allowing him to lead her down the fire escape. They walked close together, neither saying much. They arrived at the steps of her boarding house, both pausing.

"Goodnight," Hannah smiled up at him, gently squeezing his arm before pulling her hand back, and hurrying up the steps, glad to be getting out of the cold.

"Goodnight, Hannah." Bolt replied, watching until she entered the house, and clicked the lock behind her, before turning and heading back towards his own boarding house. He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking with his head down, once more losing himself to his thoughts.

He didn't even notice when the shadows to his left shifted, a figure slipping out from an alley, and creeping up next to him. He did, however, notice the searing pain to his left cheekbone, as a fist connected with a loud crack. Through his pain, he spun around, fists clenched, ready to defend himself. He stopped himself when he saw the boy standing there. He couldn't have been much older then fourteen, and he was cradling his injured hand close to his stomach. Bolt clenched his teeth in irritation, letting his fists drop back down to his sides.

"What, are they not teaching you to fight before they send you out now?" Bolt asked, an edge to his voice. "My skull is a lot harder then your fist."

The boy glared up at him, trying to look menacing, "Shaddup." He spat, "Dis is a warning. Ya got a week left, or my boss is comin' after ya!" With that, he kicked some dirt in Bolt's direction, before taking off down the street.

Bolt watched him run, absentmindedly rubbing his cheek, wincing at the bruised feeling that was already spreading. He hated sucker punches. Is someone was going to start a fight, they sure as hell should start a fair one. Bolt turned, once again starting back towards his home, still lost in thought, but having the presence of mind to keep his eyes sharp, scanning the streets and alleyways as best he could in the darkness. He knew he shouldn't be surprised. A "warning" like that was Spot's style. Bolt released a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

One week. That was all the time he had


	3. Chapter Two

((A/N: Ok, just to forwarn you, for all you Bolt fans, this chapter is a tad boring, and yet, necessary. So deal with it. Haha, enjoy))

Chapter Two

Hannah climbed the stairs to the small room she shared with her sister. She was tired, and she knew her sister wouldn't be happy about her coming in so late. She would tell her how improper her behavior was. She fitted her key into the lock on the door, trying to open it as silently as possible, hoping her sister was still asleep. She winced when the handle jangled loudly in the door. She didn't know why they even bothered locking it, the knob was so loose, you could just push the door and it would open.

She entered the room, sighing as she saw that Elisabeth was still awake, sitting up in bed, reading an ad from today's newspaper. No doubt it was all about the latest fashion trends, Hannah thought in spite of herself, smiling at Elisabeth before turning to shut the door behind her.

"Ellie, you're up late," Hannah said with a smile, tugging her gloves off, and placing them on the small dresser.

"Hannah, you're out late." Was Elisabeth's tart reply, "You weren't with that boy again, were you?"

Hannah didn't answer right away, carefully pulling the pins from her hair, allowing the light brown curls to fall across her back, before answering Elisabeth, "He's not '_that boy'_, Ellie. His name is Elijah. And yes, he was kind enough to walk me home, tonight." Hannah finally responded, conveniently leaving out the fact that she had gone to see him at his boarding house after work.

"What were you doing out so late, anyways? You weren't still working, were you? Hannah, Mr. Morrison, no mater how great a boss he is, shouldn't be working you so late."

Hannah sighed, pulling her nightgown on, and sliding under the covers of the small bed, next to Elisabeth, "No, Ellie," she said, knowing the only reason her sister was asking was because she was concerned for her. Ever since Mama and Da had gone back to their homeland, Elisabeth had felt the need to become a second mother to her younger sister. Even if the only age difference was a year.

_New York City – 1900_

_Mama Evans wrung her hand nervously, looking from one daughter to the other, as if memorizing their features, "Are you sure you want to stay here, Elisabeth. You girls shouldn't be separated from your father and I, you're too young! Come back with us, you can learn the language when we get there. Papa and I will even teach you on the ship."_

_Elisabeth, smiled tightly at her mother, unbidden tears filling her eyes, "No, Mama, New York is our place. I don't want to learn another language, and another country's customs."_

_Papa interrupted, placing a weathered hand on his wife's shoulder, "This is what you wanted, Ana. You promised yourself when you came over here, all those years ago, you promised your future children would be Americans, through and through. And they are. Let them be Americans. Ellie's 18 now, she'll watch over Hannah. Say your goodbyes, the ship will be boarding soon,"_

_Mama's eyes overflowed, tears streaming down, over her plump cheeks, She reached out, pulling both her girls, into a long hug, "You look out for each other, you hear? You're all each other has, now."_

_All three of them were crying by the time they pulled away, and when Hannah looked over at her father, she noticed even his eyes were moist with emotion._

_Hannah and Elisabeth stood together, as the ship pulled away from land, holding hands, and crying silently until they could no longer make out the forms of their parents, standing on the deck and waving to them._

_"C'mon, Hannie," Elisabeth said, wiping her cheeks with a dainty handkerchief, "We'd best go back to the boarding house, and make sure we have everything we need."_

_Hannah hesitated a moment, wanting just one more glance of her parents, before she gave in to her sister's tugging on her sleeve, allowing herself to be led back to the boarding house, their new home.  
_

"Hannah, did you hear me?" Elisabeth asked, for what must have been the second time.

"What?" Hannah said, pulling herself out of her memories.

"Don't say "what" Hannah, it's uncouth. I asked you were you'd been, if you weren't at work."

"Oh. I went to see Becky after work. I told her I'd bring her some ribbon. She's courting Stephen Miller, you know," she replied, skillfully steering the conversation away from herself. What she said wasn't a lie, she had gone to see Becky after work, but that was before she'd gone to see Elijah.

"Stephen Miller? Well, he's too good for her. I thought for sure he was going to begin courting you soon, Hannah." Elisabeth said, as she blew out the kerosene lamp.

Hannah turned on her side, curling up on her side, attempting to find a comfortable position on the stiff mattress, "No, he's courting Becky." She murmured, ignoring Elisabeth's jab at her friend, "And I'm courting Elijah."

Elisabeth snorted- in a most unladylike manor- saying, "You can't call that courting. He's never come to call, and you know, Ms. Brennen has a very nice parlor set up for gentlemen callers. She was just telling me today that she was expecting you to start courting soon. And, really, Hannah, he's not worth your time. You're a very pretty girl, I'm sure there's a nice young man that would be wiling to court you."

"Well, Ms. Brennen is a busybody. And I don't want to court any other 'nice young men' if all that's attracting them to me is my looks, honestly, Ellie, you act as if that's the only thing a man is looking for."

"Hannah, your naivety is really quite endearing. Get some sleep, tomorrow will come early."

Hannah had to grit her teeth to refrain from responding. She reminded herself once again that Elisabeth only meant what was best for her. She didn't realize that Elijah was what was best for her.

_**I'd known Hannah Evans for a long time. And as corny as it sounds, she was everything I could ever hope to be. She was pretty, but not as stunningly beautiful as some girls I'd seen. Her beauty was found in her smile, which was always ready, in her blue eyes, which had the uncanny ability to convey her every thought, and in the warmth of her voice, always evident, no matter what was going wrong in her life. And things went wrong in her life often.**_


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Tuesday, Day Two**_

_**Morning**_

****Bolt was awoken by the bright sunlight shining in through his curtainless window. It was a moment before the sleep cleared his mind, then he sat straight up in bed, his heart pounding, as he remembered the events of last night. He swallowed hard, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, praying it had all been a nightmare. The pain that he felt as soon as his hand made contact with the left side of his face assured him that it had indeed been real.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed, stumbling to the washbasin, and splashing water onto his face. He ran his wet hands through his unkempt dark hair, a halfhearted attempt to coax it to lay down flat. He studied his image in the small cracked mirror that hung on the wall, grimacing at the purplish bruise on his cheek. He was going to have a hard time explaining this one to his boss. Bolt made his meager living as a stock boy in Avery's Department Store, and his boss didn't tolerate anything.

He couldn't help but think, as little as he was paid for what he did, there should be some leeway with things like this. But of course, there was no leeway. And his miniscule pay was what had gotten him into so much trouble in the first place. But that wasn't something he wanted to be thinking about right now. Bolt reached for his comb, running it through his hair, and readying himself for work.

The sky was a grayish white when he left the house, a sign that the first snow of the season would be upon them soon. He turned his collar up, pulling his coat around him tighter to ward off the winter chill, as he walked the 3 blocks to Avery's. Usually he looked forward to his workday, if only because it gave him a chance to see Hannah, who worked the ribbon counter, even though it was only for a few moments in the morning, and at their lunch break.

It was where they had met, almost two years ago. Bolt smiled at the memory, forgetting the biting cold for a moment.

**New York City, 1900**

**Avery's Department Store**

_Bolt pushed open the door to the alley with his foot, his hands occupied with the large empty crate he had just finished unloading. He dropped the crate next to several others which were waiting to be taken to the dump, turning back towards the side door just as it clicked shut. He made a face, he'd forgotten to prop the door open. The darn thing's lock was jammed, and if you forgot to prop it open, you'd get locked out. Bolt sighed, turning from the alley towards the street; he would have to go in through the store's main doors. _

_As he made his way towards the door, he saw a girl, maybe a year or two younger then him, standing outside the store glancing from a piece of paper in her hand up to the sign on the door. He held off a grin at the cute, confused expression on her face. He started to say something to her, when his senses came back to him, and he realized it wasn't his place. He lowered his head, giving her a wide berth, as he always did with customers. After all, they didn't want to interact with a common stock boy. _

_"Excuse me."_

_She spoke, and his heart skipped a beat. He looked back, expecting to see her addressing someone else, but no one was around. He could feel his cheeks color slightly when he realized she was talking to him, "Can I help you, miss?"_

"_Yes, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you work here?" She spoke with a trace of a smile on her lips, and Bolt smiled back, as if he'd been smiling at this girl all his life._

"_Yes, I do. How did you know?"_

_Her hinted smile blossomed into a full one, and Bolts heart skipped yet another beat. He swallowed hard, trying to regain control of his feelings. She gestured at the thick tan apron he was wearing, part of his uniform for the store. "Avery's" was embroidered across the chest in thick black lettering. "Oh. That." Now he knew his cheeks were red, embarrassed to be acting so stupid in front of her. She must have thought he was a complete idiot. "Yes, I do. But I'm not a salesman; I'm just a stock boy. I can find you a salesman if you'd like though." Thinking that must be what she was looking for._

"_Oh, no, actually, I was hoping you could direct me to Mr. Morrison's office. I'm applying for the open position. He's looking for a new ribbon girl."_

_Understanding dawned on Bolt's face, and he smiled at her again, pushing open the glass door, and ushering her inside, "Of course, his office is on the third floor. When you see him, tell him Michael Shaw sent you for the position. He'll hire you on the spot."_

"_Are you Michael Shaw?" She asked, wrinkling her forehead slightly, in that same look of confusion she had worn earlier._

_He grinned down at her, "No, Mr. Shaw is one of the partners. My name is Elijah, Elijah Henderson."_

"_Hannah Evans," She replied, offering her name, her eyes sparkling, "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Henderson."_

"_Please, call me Elijah."_

"_Alright, Elijah. Then you should call me Hannah."_

_Bolt pointed out the door to Mr. Morrison's office. "He's right through there, good luck, Hannah. And remember, Mr. Shaw sent you." He said, winking as he backed away._

_Hannah grinned at him, before turning away, knocking lightly on the office door._

****

Bolt lowered his head against the wind, wishing it wasn't so cold. Or at least not so windy. He glanced up as he approached the store, smiling as he saw Hannah there, shivering in the cold, but waiting for him by the front door, like she always did.

"Hannah, you know you don't have to wait for me out here, it's too cold!"

Hannah grinned at him, teeth chattering, "Yeah, but if I have to hear about 'fraternizing with the stock boy' from Mr. Morrison again, I think I'll scream."

Bolt pulled her away from the glass doors, and any onlookers, before wrapping his arms around her in a hug. "I missed you." He said into her hair. He had missed her, even though it had only been a night. Perhaps the feeling was magnified by his current situation, and the fact that he had no idea how to deal with it.

Hannah smiled, resting her head on his chest, and enjoying the warmth his body was providing. She loved the way she always felt so safe in his arms. So… right.

Bolt sighed, knowing he was going to have to go face Mr. Morrison. "I'd better go. I need to go talk to Mr. Morrison before he gets busy."

Hannah pulled back, smiling up at him. When her eyes fell across the bruise on his cheek, her smile quickly faded. "Elijah! What happened?!" She asked, brushing her fingers across his cheek.

Even the slight touch caused him to wince a little, involuntarily. "It's nothing. I just rolled off my bed this morning. Knocked against the night table." Bolt swallowed, hating the fact that he's just lied to her, but knowing she wouldn't understand the truth. He had to figure something out, and fast, he was down to 6 and a half more days.

Hannah's forehead wrinkled in concern, "Are you sure you're ok?"

Elijah couldn't help chuckling at her, as she worried over the bruise. It wasn't much of one, as bruises go, even though the kid had surprised him, there hadn't been a whole lot of power behind his punch. "Yes, I'm sure I'm ok. Give me a little credit, won't you? I'm a stock boy, didn't you know? We eat nails for breakfast."

Hannah laughed, squeezing his biceps playfully, "How could I have forgotten?"

"I'll see you at lunch?" He asked, his eyes still twinkling in mirth.

"Same time" She answered, entering the building before him, and making her way to the ribbon counter, to set up.


	5. Chapter Four

Bolt knocked lightly on the office door, half of him hoping Mr. Morrison wouldn't be in yet.

"Come in," came the call from the other side. No such luck. "Ah, Mr. Henderson, just the man- what in heaven's name happened to your face?!"

"Uh, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, sir. I had an unfortunate accident, involving a night table. Sir, I hope you don't think this will affect my work, or upset the customers, I-"

"Of course I think it will upset the customers! They don't want to be shopping in fear, amoung street rats, and hooligans!" Mr. Morrison cut him off, his face red in anger.

"Yes sir. Of course not. Perhaps I could just keep my work limited to the back room, where they won't see me, sir."

"Absolutely not! You won't be working at all until that thing heals! And don't expect pay, either! Not a dime, until you get back here and work!" Mr. Morrison was livid, and even the top of his bald head began turning red.

Anger at the injustice coursed through Bolt's veins, but he bit down on his tongue. As much as he hated the work, and as much as he hated his boss, to shoot off at the mouth and lose his job was stupid. Especially in this city where jobs were so hard to come by. Bolt nodded stiffly, and turned to leave, when Mr. Morrison spoke again.

"I don't even want to see your face within a block of this place! And for God's sake, leave by the side door!"

Bolt gritted his teeth, pulling the door closed behind him, not trusting himself with a civil response.

He walked out the alley exit, pausing as the door swung shut, and wondering what he was going to do for money until his bruise healed. And then he remembered Hannah. He was supposed to meet her for lunch. "Great," He muttered to himself, "just great."

He moved out of the alley, and back onto the main street, scanning the crowds, as if someone in them would be able to help with his newest set of problems. He caught sight of Becky Anderson, a scarf tied around her head, and her hands burrowed into a cheap muffler. "Becky! Hey, Becky, wait a minute!" He called, jogging over to her.

"Bolt! What are you doing out here, aren't you supposed to be at work? And what happened to your cheek?" She asked, moving over to the side of the street with him, and out of the flow of traffic.

Bolt waved the questions off, he was getting a little sick of hearing about his bruise. Did nobody ever get bruises anymore? "Never mind all that. Will you do me a favor?"

"Depends, what's the favor?" Becky asked, looking up at him suspiciously.

"Could you just tell Hannah that I can't make it to lunch today? She's going to wonder where I am."

"Why can't you tell her? The store's, like, two yards away." Becky asked, cocking her head to the side in question.

"I just can't, ok? Please do that for me? I'll be in your debt." Bolt pleaded, his eyes looking worried.

"Ok, sure. I'll do it. I think you're acting strange, but I'll tell her."

"Thanks, Becky. You're a life saver." Bolt said, tugging his hat at her in thanks, as he began to walk away.

"Wait! Bolt, are you in some kind of trouble, or something?"

Bolt hesitated for a moment, before answering, "Or something. Just tell Hannah I can't make lunch, ok?"

Becky nodded, watching him walk away, until the cold reminded her she was standing in the middle of the street in the freezing New York weather. She hurried into Avery's going directly to the ribbon counter. Hannah was there, chatting amicably with a customer, as she twisted and pinned little bits of ribbon into a small rosebud. Becky waited quietly until she was finished, the elderly lady she had been helping, thanking her.

"Dear, you are so gifted with this ribbon. I'm going to put this right on my favorite hat!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Loring, you're too kind," Hannah smiled brightly.

Becky stepped up to the counter, to the place Mrs. Loring had just vacated, "Hannah, do you have to be so well loved?" She asked, grinning at her friend.

"I can't help it, I just made her a ribbon rose!" Hannah replied, grinning back at her friend, "What are you doing here, Becky?"

"Well, I have an urgent message, from your man," Becky said, wiggling her eyebrows up and down.

Hannah's cheeks flamed red, "Becky! Ellie would have a fit if she heard you saying that!"

"When_ isn't_ Ellie having a fit?" Becky countered.

Hannah laughed at that, "True," She conceded, "Really, though, it is improper. And if Mr. Morrison heard you saying that, he'd fire us both."

Becky shrugged, "I'll be careful not to say it around him, then. But, anyways, he told me to tell you he couldn't make lunch."

"Really? Where did you see him? Isn't he here?"

Becky shrugged, "I just saw him a few minutes ago, outside. What's with that bruise of his, anyways, did he get into a fight or something?"

"Elijah? In a fight?" Hannah laughed at the idea, "I don't think so, Bec, he doesn't do that anymore. He said he rolled out of bed, and hit his head on the night table." Hannah paused, her face taking on a thoughtful appearance, "I wonder what he was doing outside, though. Oh, you don't think Mr. Morrison fired him, do you?!"

Becky shrugged again, "I don't know, he did look a little preoccupied, though."

Hannah sighed, "That doesn't mean anything these days. He's been out on some other planet lately."

"I don't know, then, Hannah. What I do know is that I have to get going. Mrs. Greskin won't tolerate me being late again. She's not as sweet as you're Mrs. Loring." Becky complained, referring to the elderly lady she worked for, as a companion.

"Alright, don't be late. I'll see you later,"

"Bye," Becky offered one last smile, and a little wave, before she was on her way to Mrs. Greskin's again.

_**When I look back now, I see how perfect they were for each other. Sometimes I wonder if they even saw it. Few people were supportive of them being together. In the beginning, even I'll admit that I had my qualms about it. I wonder, if they'd had the support of their friends and family, if things would have turned out differently. But I guess we'll never know.**_


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five **

**_New York City_****_, 1902 _**

**_Tuesday, Day Two _**

**_Early Afternoon _**

Bolt pushed out of yet another store, irritation mixed with weariness clouding his dark eyes. It was the sixth store he'd been to, trying to get someone to hire him for the next week or so. Half of him just wanted to take the time off, so he could sort out exactly what he was going to be doing about his predicament. But the other half- the half that liked to sleep in some semblance of a bed, and eat a little something each day- that half knew he needed to get a job. So he moved on down the street, searching for another opportunity at employment.

He glanced up, looking to find where exactly he was, his eyes falling on a sign for an old tenement building. "Wow." He said out loud, his breath becoming a visible cloud in the cold air, "If that doesn't bring back memories."

* * *

**_New York City_****_, 1892 _**

**_The Henderson's Flat _**

_Elijah stood at the dirty window of his apartment, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Pa had promised to be home early, to take him to see the horses down at Sheepshead Bay. Elijah didn't know what time "early" was, but he was pretty sure it had already passed. He pressed his nose against the pane, his breath fogging the glass, making it even harder to see through. Impatiently Elijah swiped his sleeve across the window, before leaning forward again. Finally, he could make out the figure of Pa, his head was bent, but Elijah could tell it was him by the way he walked. Pa had been involved in some sort of accident, and had received a permanent limp from it. He'd never told Elijah the details, so he'd always just assumed it had been the product of an accident at one of the factories he'd been employed at. _

_Elijah raced to the door of the flat, yanking it open, a grin plastered on his face. "Pa! I'm all ready to go, Pa!" He exclaimed with excitement, the second his father was within hearing distance. _

_William Henderson didn't answer, but kept his head down as he approached the doorway. He paused when he was standing directly next to Elijah, resting a hand heavily on the boy's shoulder. "I tried to do good by you, kid. I know your ma would've been disappointed in me, if she was still around. But, by God, I'm trying." _

_Elijah's forehead wrinkled in confusion, and he tilted his head back, trying to get a good look at his father's face, which was mostly hidden by the shadows his hat was casting. As he moved away, he lifted his hat from his head, revealing a darkening bruise across the bridge of his nose, and a split lip. Dried blood had stained his upper lip, a trail leading from his nose, across his right cheek, as if he'd been laying on his side as it flowed. _

_"Pa!" the startled cry came from the small boy, "Pa, what happened! Was it the Five Points Gang?!" He exclaimed, naming off the only gang he knew of. His father offered a strangled chuckle at that. _

_"And what would you know of the Five Points Gang?" He asked, amusement flickering slightly in his otherwise distressed eyes. _

_"The boys at school were talking about them. Johnny said he was going to be one when he growed up. I told him he was stupid. Johnny tried to hit me, but Ms. Darber was watching, so he couldn't. But, it would have been ok if he'd tried Pa, I think I could fight him." _

_"Son, there are only two things in this world worth fighting for. The first is love. If you ever find love, fight for it, with all you are." William glanced away from him, seemingly staring into space, after a brief pause, he continued, "The second is your convictions. Never let anyone take those away from you." _

_Elijah nodded up at him, recognizing the serious tone in his voice, even if he didn't fully understand his words. "Alright, Pa. I'll remember." _

_William nodded, his shoulders drooping wearily, as he turned away, heading into the washroom to clean up. _

_"But, Pa?" _

_William sighed, "Yeah, Lije?" _

_"Was it them? I mean, was it the Five Points Gang?" _

_"No. No, son, it wasn't the Five Points Gang." _

* * *

Elijah swallowed hard, his eyes felt moist from the memory, but he pushed it down, refusing to think any longer on a past life. He had bigger things to deal with now.

* * *

Hannah entered the small cafeteria provided for Avery's employee's, purchasing her meal, and glancing around the small room for an empty table. There was a seat available at one with a few of the other girls who worked on her floor, but Hannah pretended not to notice when they waved her over. Normally she would have enjoyed there company, but right then she just wanted to be alone.

She'd been stewing all morning, running her conversations with Elijah and Becky through her head, over and over again. She didn't know why she was so stuck on it, but something just felt off about the whole situation. It was driving her insane that she couldn't figure out what it was.

She played with her food, not eating any of it, lost in thought.

* * *

**_New York City_****_, 1900 _**

**_Nellie's Diner _**

_"So, tell me a little bit about yourself," Elijah said, once they had settled into their booth, "I mean, other then the fact that you're ribbon girl extraordinaire." He added, a playful grin on his face. _

_"Oh, other then that, huh?" Hannah teased back, her blue eyes sparkling, "there's not much to tell. My parents came here almost twenty years ago, trying to make a new life, just like everybody else who comes to this city. They toughed it out for a long time. But then about 6 months ago, we got word that my grandmother, Papa's mother, was ill. She was fading fast, and my aunts were begging him to come home, before she was gone. So, two months ago, they went back. Elisabeth- my sister- and I stayed here. Neither of us know German, and we didn't want to have to leave America behind. This is our home." _

_Elijah nodded his understanding, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I can't imagine going moving out west, let alone all the way across an ocean." _

_Hannah smiled at him, "So, what about you? What's your story?" _

_For the first time since she'd met him, Elijah's eyes lost their lighthearted appearance, a cloud sweeping over them. It only lasted a moment, before he was smiling again, "My story's not finished yet, now is it?" _

_Hannah rolled her eyes at him, "Ok, Mr. Mystery. You don't have to tell, if you don't want to." _

_Elijah winked at her, "There's really not much to say. My Ma passed away when I was born, so I never knew her. My Pa… well, he was around a little longer then that. I was a newsie for a little while, but not very long. I went to work at a factory when I was fifteen, and then came to Avery's after two years. I've been at Avery's ever since. About a year now." _


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Tuesday, Day Two**_

_**Early Afternoon**_

Bolt pushed on, leaving his old tenement building behind, along with the memories it had stirred up. Memories that felt like they came from a different lifetime. It had been five years since he last saw his father. That day he still remembered, clear as a bell.

He had been fifteen at the time, and slightly more cynical than his ten year old self. That being said, he still idolized his father, and often mimicked him, hoping to catch the man's attention as often as he could. Not that William Henderson ignored him, but he often had other things on his mind. Making enough money to support them had been his focus, and Bolt had his suspicions as to how seedy his father's ways of income were. But at fifteen, he never thought to question them. Yes, he could still remember the day his father never came home. He'd stayed up, waiting, until well after two in the morning. But his father never showed. He'd been woken, somewhere around eleven o'clock, by a banging on the door. Bleary eyed, he'd gone to answer, and was greeted by a young boy, maybe about eleven years old. The boy had thrust a small package, into his hands, before turning and running off with out a word.

Bolt had torn away the newspaper that had been the wrapping on the package, and found himself staring at a gold pocket watch. It was as familiar to him as the New York City streets had become. The gold had dulled, and could use a good shining, but the engraving on the front could still be read. It was his father's initials, followed by these words: "A family, even unto the end of time."

It had been a gift from his mother to his father, on their wedding day. Bolt had never seen his father without it. Until that day.

Bolt remained at the flat for almost a month, before the landlord kicked him out for not paying the rent. He had left, but spent the better part of two weeks in an alley, watching the building, and waiting for his father to show up. Finally, his hunger got the better of him, and he went to work at a local factory. He continued to spend the night in the alley though, until something in him snapped. His father was dead. He wasn't coming back, and Bolt was on his own.

The grumbling in his stomach brought Bolt back from his recollections, and he pulled out the pocket watch, which he'd never been without, and saw that it was well after one. He would have to take a break from the job search, so he could eat lunch.

Hannah smiled wearily at her last customer, more then ready to pack up her things and leave. It had been a long day, and she had been considerably distracted all day, her mind still stuck on Elijah, and what was going on with him. It was almost as if she had been blocking it out, but know that she'd thought about it, it had released a floodgate of worries and concerns.

She was placing a box of pins beneath the counter, cleaning up before she left for the day, when the sound of shattering glass filled the air, followed by the screams of customers and employees alike.

Hannah's could feel the color draining from her face, when her eyes fell on the reason for the broken glass. Lying not two feet away from where she was standing was a brick. Well, half of one actually, and wrapped around it was a crumpled piece of paper. Hannah's heartbeat quickened, and she stooped, tugging the paper free, and shaking the shards of broken glass of, careful to avoid cutting herself.

"Everybody remain calm," Hannah recognized the voice of one of the salesmen, Robert Pearson.

Hannah tuned him out, bringing the paper up closer to her face, to try to discern the messily scrawled words. She squinted to make out the words- "If Bolt wants to keep you alive, he-"

"Hannah! Hannah, are you alright?!" Elisabeth's worried voice cut through her thoughts, and with shaking hands she folded the paper, shoving it into her waistband to read later.

Hannah smoothed her hands over her skirt, in an attempt to still them. "Ellie, what are you doing here?"

"I was walking by on my way home, and heard the crash. Is that the brick?! Good Heavens! It almost hit you!"

Hannah had to bite her tongue to keep her sarcastic reply inside. Of course she knew it had almost hit her, she was the one standing next to the brick, shaking uncontrollably. "I'm fine, Ellie, it missed. Just a little shook up, that's all."

"Oh, you poor dear! Why on earth would anyone throw a brick through a window like that?"

Hannah settled her hand over the note, which was just barely poking up over the top of her waistband. She would like to know the same thing. Her concern about Bolt had officially reached its peak.

"Come, Hannah, let me get a look at you. Were you hit by any of the glass?" Elisabeth pulled her sister closer examining her carefully, "Oh, dear, you're bleeding."

"What?" Hannah asked, confused. She hadn't even felt it. She reached her hand up to her forehead, feeling a small trickle of blood. "It's fine, Ellie, just a little cut."

Elisabeth was in full mothering mode, though, pulling out her handkerchief, and wiping off what blood she could. "There might still be glass in there. Where's Mr. Morrison, I demand he send you to a doctor!"

Hannah rolled her eyes, a sigh escaping her lips.

"I'm here, I'm here," announced a flustered Mr. Morrison, who was ringing his hands, "Of course, take her straight to the doctor," he said, nodding emphatically, "Tell them to send me the bill. I can't believe this happened in my store." His attention shifted, as he scanned the room, "Mr. Pearson, get the police here immediately! I want this investigated!"

Ellie tugged on her sister's arm, pulling her towards the door, "Come on let's get you to Dr. Bennett."

_**And that was just the beginning. If Hannah had known what was in store for her over the next few days, she probably would have left the city entirely. I know she had her second thoughts about staying in New York without her parents, but for the most part, Bolt erased those concerns from her mind entirely. It was only when her fear of the city involved Bolt, that she began to really worry.**_


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Four**

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Tuesday, Day Three**_

_**Late Morning**_

Johnny Tornado, as he'd come to be called, was living his dream. A dream of a street urchin perhaps, but a dream none the less. He was a member of the Eastman Gang, and in fact, was the youngest lieutenant the gang had ever seen. It may not have been the gang he fantasized about, but a gang was a gang. What really mattered to Johnny was the power.

Which was why he'd risen through the ranks so quickly to become one of Monk Eastman's right hand men. It was all about power. If he'd been born on the other side of the tracks, he'd probably be chasing the same dream through a different venue. Politics or business, things that were unattainable to those who grew up in the slums.

But, whether or not the cutthroat world of politics would have been enough to quench his insatiable thirst for power, he didn't know. Little did it matter though, because he had all the power he needed.

Johnny had spent the first part of his life growing up on the wrong side of the Bowery; although, to say there is a wrong side, is to say there is right side, and that fact is, at the very least, questionable. He'd made the best of his situation, learning to fight, and learning to lead, or, maybe, not so much lead as terrify people into following. But the only thing that mattered to him was that they were following, and they wouldn't dare question his leadership.

Which was why the thought of someone not cowering in fear at his name was enough to put him in a foul mood. And that, in turn, was enough to keep anybody with half a brain away from him.

"Hey, Johnny… you busy?"

Unfortunately for him, most of the gang's younger members could only hold claim to a fourth of a brain, at the most.

"Not now, Rags," he said, not bothering to turn around.

"But, uh, Johnny –"

Apparently, this kid couldn't hold claim to any brain at all. Johnny turned, glaring at the boy without answering. Luckily, the kid caught on.

"Never mind, Mr. Tornado," he said, before turning on his heel and dashing out the door.

Johnny rolled his eyes, propping his feet up on the table he was sitting at, as the bar girl glared at him. He smirked at her, daring her to defy him. She didn't say a word. Johnny's smirk etched a bit deeper.

* * *

Bolt had gotten up early the next morning, intending on going to see Hannah before he began his job search again. Unfortunately, it had been three whole hours since he'd awoke and all he'd managed to do was argue with Elisabeth.

"Ellie, please, I just want to see her." Bolt ran his hand through his tousled hair, irritation showing in his eyes. "She'll be going to work, soon, anyways, won't she?"

Elisabeth had her arms crossed in front of her chest, looking haughtily at him. "No, actually, she won't. She's not going in today. Mr. Morrison gave her a paid leave of absence."

Bolt's eyebrows shot up at that. "Why?" he asked.

Elisabeth clamped her mouth shut, regretting that she'd allowed that information to slip out.

Before Elisabeth could try to cover up her slip, a second female voice could be heard. "Ellie, let me out, I want to talk to Elijah," Hannah said, her voice coming out from behind her sister.

Elisabeth scowled, but stepped aside, out of the doorway. "Don't be long, Hannah."

Hannah nodded, stepping out on the stoop, and pulling the front door closed behind her.

The moment he saw her face, Bolt's eyes were filled with concern. "Hannah! What happened?!" he asked, reaching forward, his fingers brushing lightly across the square of white gauze that was taped in place.

Hannah reached up, taking his hand in hers. "Let's walk," she said, leading him away from the steps.

Bolt followed in silence, but couldn't remain that way for long, "Hannah?" He asked gently. "What happened?"

Hannah led them to a bench and took a seat before pulling him down beside her. Once they were settled, she answered his question. "At the store yesterday, someone through a brick through the front window."

"What?!" he asked, obviously surprised. "Why would anybody do that? Are you hurt bad?"

Hannah shook her head, her heart torn in two. Part of her wanted to fall into his embrace, just so she could just feel safe again. The other part was feeling immensely hurt – that somehow this was all tied back to him. "I was wondering the same thing, Elijah, but then I found this. It was wrapped around the brick."

She pulled the crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. She cleared her throat before she began to read the note out loud. "If Bolt wants to keep you alive, he should be at the Bluebird Café, nine o'clock, tomorrow night." She paused for a moment, refusing to look up and meet his eyes. "Who's after you, Elijah? Who gave you that black eye? And why did you lie to me about it?"

Bolt leaned against the back of the bench, dragging his hand across his face. He considered her questions before venturing an answer. "I shouldn't have lied. I'm sorry."

Hannah could feel the tear prickling in her eyes and swallowed hard, angry at herself for wanting to cry. She attempted to get her emotions under control before speaking again. "I know you're sorry," she began slowly, "but I'm not sure if that's good enough." She paused, shaking her head twice, as if to clear it.

Bolt sat forward, reaching across, and taking her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him for the first time that morning. "Hannah. I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I—" his voice broke, as he caught the look of utter hurt in her eyes. "I don't know how else to say it. I need you to trust me right now. I'm going to disappear for a few days and I need you to stay inside. Stay with Ellie, ok?"

Hannah shook her head, a single tear escaping her eye, making its way down her cheek. Bolt was still holding her face in his hands and he used his thumb to wipe the tear away. "Please," he said, dropping his head so that his forehead rested against hers. He closed his eyes, praying she would understand, "please trust me."

A minute passed, while they both sat in silence, before Hannah pulled away from him. She rose from her seat, without a word. Bolt stood as well, and wrapped his arms around her, her body stiffening in his hold. He held her for a minute before she finally relaxed, pulling back slightly, and cupping the back of his neck with her hands. "Be careful," she said, her tears now flowing freely, "just be careful."

Bolt nodded, leaning down, slightly, his lips meeting hers in a bittersweet kiss, neither of them caring that they were standing in the middle of a busy street. Bolt finally pulled back, searching her eyes. "Don't go out until you hear from me, alright?"

Hannah nodded, reluctant to release him. "Make sure that I hear from you," she answered, searching his eyes in return, hoping for some reassurance.

Bolt gently tugged her arms from around his neck, holding her hands for a moment longer, before he stepped back. He nodded towards her boarding house. "You'll be hearing from me. Stay inside," he repeated one last time, before she turned, and hurried back to her front door.

She allowed herself one more glance at him, before letting the door close behind her.


	9. Chapter Eight

Back inside the house, Hannah swept past her sister without a word, practically tripping up the stairs in her haste to reach the solitude of her room.

Apparently she wasn't going to have it that easy, though, because Elisabeth was on her heels, skirts gathered in her hands so she could keep up.

"Hannah! Hannah Christina Evans, look at me!" Elisabeth exclaimed, as she finally caught up to her sister in their room.

Hannah twirled, her still holding a trace of her tears, fear and hurt battling for control in them. "What, Elisabeth!?" She asked, a little more harshly then she had intended. She closed her eyes at her own words, forcing herself to draw a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little… on edge."

Elisabeth's lips were set in a thin line, and she seemed to be deciding whether or not to scold her sister for snapping, or ask her what was wrong. She sighed, finally settling on the latter, "What's the matter, Hannah?" She settled on the bed, patting the mattress, inviting her sister to sit beside her.

Hannah sunk down beside her sister, her shoulders drooping, as if it was just too much work to hold them up anymore.

"Is it Elijah?" Elisabeth finally asked, when Hannah didn't answer right away, "Did he- did he end things?"

"What?! No, of course not, as much as you'd love that."

"Hannah! What has gotten into you? Maybe you should be the one to end things with him, if this is the attitude you've picked up being around him."

"Ellie, please!" Hannah exclaimed, before pushing herself off the bed. "It's not as if you would understand, anyways." She moved over to the window, pulling the thin curtain back and nervously surveying the street.

"Well." Elisabeth said, straightening her skirt as she stood, "I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm going to work. I'll see you when I get back."

Hannah felt a twinge of guilt, for snapping at her sister, but her emotions were running so high, she hardly knew what she was saying.

Elisabeth slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

Hannah pulled the curtains closed, stepping back from the window. She'd rather be sitting in the dark, then sitting with the idea of someone watching her from outside that window.

* * *

Bolt was back on the roof of his lodging house, pacing. He was too angry to be still. He was also to angry to be job searching, but that didn't keep the rational side of him thinking about it. He had a small bit of savings that he could live off of for a while, but he had other intentions for that. Still, the matter at hand was more important. 

His fingers were itching for a cigarette, and it took him reaching into his empty pocket to remember he'd thrown the pack away, at Hannah's request. He sighed, shoving both his hands into his pockets, resuming his pacing.

He thought back to the conversation he's just had with Hannah, not even three hours ago. He played it over and over in his head. He did regret lying to her. He didn't like lying to anyone, and especially not Hannah. She might have decided to trust him today, because there hadn't been much of a choice. He couldn't help but wonder is she would still be feeling trustful when all this had ended. If it ever did end, he was beginning to feel it was going to drag on forever.

To be honest, he wasn't even completely sure what was going on. The kid coming with a warning on Monday had been Spot's style. But a brick through a window? That didn't seem like him. Unless he'd changed drastically since he'd first met him.

_**New York City, 1897**_

_Elijah had only been working at the factory for two months, and he'd already acquired a nickname, and some new enemies. The nickname he didn't care much about, people could call him whatever they wanted to, even if they wanted to call him Bolt. He wasn't even sure where it had come from. A few of the girls who worked on his floor had started calling him that, and it had stuck. The enemies he didn't really care about either, as long as they let him be._

_Ever since his father had disappeared-- he couldn't bring himself to say he was dead, so he always just said "disappeared"-ever since then, he'd been a loner. He'd been numb. It was like nothing could sink into his brain._

_He woke up every morning, went to the factory, worked from the beginning of the day to the closing bell. Then he went home, went to bed, and started all over again the next morning._

_He spent very little of the money he earned, just enough to pay for his lodging, and a meal every now and then. He kept himself alive. Because, that after all had been the sole purpose of his father's life. It felt like letting him down, to just stop living. So he lived. He did what he had to stay alive. No more, no less._

_But then there were the Jimmys. Everyone called them the Jimmys because they shared the same first name. Although if you called Jim Anders "Jimmy" to his face, you may as well just jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, because even that was better having an angry Jim Anders. And calling him Jimmy made him very angry._

_So, together they were the Jimmys. Apart they were Jim Anders and Jimmy Lewis. They were also Elijah's new enemies. It was unknown to everybody, why they'd picked him as their target. Perhaps it was just that he was the newest employee. Or perhaps it was just that he was so quiet, and seemed as if he'd be easy prey._

_Whatever the reasons, they'd spent the greater part of the last two months terrorizing and harassing Elijah whenever they had the chance. He'd asked about them, among his coworkers, but hadn't found out much. Just that they were a little seedy, and most people tried to stay away from them. There were also several unfounded rumors, everything from their involvement in local gangs, to their assassination attempt on President Cleaveland. _

_Mostly Bolt just ignored the Jimmys. It was too much effort to even be annoyed by them. But their constant attacks were beginning to wear thin, and the day came when it was just too much_

_"Hey, Bolt, that's what they're calling you now, right?" Jimmy Lewis fell into step beside him, as Bolt left the factory, Jim Anders not far behind, "Tell me, why Bolt? Is it because your father bolted, and left you all by your lonesome? Huh?" Jimmy Lewis slung his arm across Bolt's shoulders, "Aww, what's the matter? You're not going to cry now, are you?"_

_Something inside of Bolt just snapped, he spun, shrugging Jimmy's arm and striking out with a closed fist, all in one smooth movement. The crunch of bone when his fist made contact with Jimmy's nose was a satisfying sound. He struck again and again, burying his fist into Jimmy's stomach._

_Jim Anders seemed to finally get over the shock of witnessing such an assault from the resident "quiet kid" and caught up to them. He grabbed Bolt roughly by the shoulder, spinning him around, and throwing a sharp jab, making direct contact with Bolt's left eye._

_Jimmy recovered from his doubled over state, grabbing Bolt's arm, as he pulled back to retaliate against Jim Anders. Bolt could feel his arm being twisted behind his back, and struggled to break free. Jimmy managed to get a hold of his other arm, twisting that behind his back as well, so that both his arms were pinned uselessly._

_Jim Anders grinned, returning every punch, and then some._

_The barrage continued, and Bolt remained silent, almost enjoying the pain that was being inflicted upon him. It had been so long since he'd felt anything, it was like a release. Not to say that he was going to purposefully go around getting beat up, but perhaps feeling again, wouldn't be so bad._

_It occurred to him, dully, that he was simply standing there, allowing himself to be knocked around. Jimmy's hold had loosened, since Bolt had stopped struggling, and with a quick twist, he was able to pull out of his hold. He dodged, backing away from them, his mind suddenly racing for a way to elude them. _

_"That's enough. Clear out."_

_The Jimmys were both coming towards them, anger gleaming in their eyes, when they both stopped, at the simple command of a spectator. They both still looked rather peeved, but they nodded at the boy, who only looked to be about seventeen._

_Bolt fell back against the wall, clutching his stomach, and gasping for breath. "Who're you?" He asked, when he finally had enough air to talk again._

_The boy regarded him for a moment, arms crossed across his chest, before a smirk spread across his face. "I'm Spot Conlon. And you are my new fighter."_

Bolt ran his hand through his hair, frustrated with his inability to do anything until he went to meet- whoever it was he was supposed to be meeting. He glanced at his watch again. He still had ten hours to kill.

_**I can still remember when Hannah had her first doubt about Elijah. I think that scared her more then anything else. She'd never had reason to doubt him before, and her greatest hope was that all of her doubts would be unfounded, and he really would be that fairy tale prince.**_


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

_**New York City, 1897**_

**_Lower Manhattan_**

_"I'm your new what?" Bolt asked, wondering if the attack had addled his brain._

_"Fighter," Spot replied, nodding for Bolt to follow him._

_Bolt didn't know why, but he felt like he had to obey. Maybe it was because the guy had most likely just saved him from several broken bones. He pushed away from the wall, pausing to steady himself, as his head spun. When the world stopped spinning, Bolt fell in step beside Spot, rubbing the back of his wrist across his face, wiping away some of the blood that was still flowing sluggishly from his nose._

_"Here, clean off," Spot said, handing him an almost clean handkerchief. _

_Bolt accepted the cloth, wiping his face with it, then the arm he had used at his first attempt. A thought crossed the back of his mind, that this Spot Conlon sure ordered people around a lot, but he didn't dwell on it. His good sense told him not to question Spot again. Whatever it was he was talking about, he would find out soon enough. _

_They walked in silence, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, and Bolt was just about to protest walking any further without knowing the destination, good sense or not, when Spot raised a hand, stopping in his tracks. He glanced around the nearly empty street before disappearing into an alleyway, the entrance of which was nearly blocked off by stacked crates._

_Bolt followed, his curiosity now piqued by the way this strange, albeit commanding, young man was acting._

_Spot paused at a door that was situated about halfway into the alley, pounding on it three times with side of his fist. The door opened a crack, then shut again just as quickly. Bolt furrowed his brow, about to question Spot about it, when he heard the sound of chains sliding across the metal door. It swung open again, wide enough to allow Spot and Bolt to enter. _

_As Bolt stepped inside the room, he was awarded a full view of the person who had been guarding the door. He was a towering fellow, standing a full head and shoulders taller then Bolt; he seemed to examine Bolt as he passed by, but remained silent._

_"C'mon."_

_Bolt turned, following Spot deeper into this mysterious room. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he was able to make out several chairs scattered throughout the room. Most of them looked as if they'd been dragged there from a dump, each in various states of disrepair. Furniture sporting ripped upholstery, missing backs, and other discrepancies littered the room. Bolt noticed one chair that had a two by four nailed on as its fourth leg._

_"What is this place?" Bolt asked, scanning the room._

_"This," Spot replied, sweeping his hands up, gesturing around the room, "this is The Ring."_

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Tuesday, Day Three**_

_**Early Afternoon**_

Hannah sat on her bed, her chin in her hands, frustrated. She was bored, and upset, and confused, but mostly she was frustrated. She wanted to do something, anything, even if it was just going to work. But every time she got up to leave she remembered Elijah's words.

_"Don't go out until you hear from me, alright?"_

Hannah hated just sitting there. She felt useless. And she couldn't help going over the conversation she'd had with Elijah, over and over again in her head. The more she thought about it, the more restless she felt. She desperately wanted to go back to a week ago, when none of this was happening.

But, instead, she was sitting alone in her room, in the middle of the day, with nothing to do. And, the more she thought about it, the more she realized she still didn't know what was going on. Everything had moved so quickly, ever since that brick had sailed through the window. She hadn't even taken the time to really grasp what was happening around her. But now she had plenty of time, and it still wasn't making any sense…

Hannah glanced at the small clock on the wall. It was early still, and Elijah wasn't going to meet… whoever he was going to meet until nine. A small sigh escaped her lips, and she reached over to the small dresser, picking up the book she had been reading. Flipping it open, she hoped to distract herself from her worrisome thoughts.

**_New York City, 1890_**

_**The Evan's Flat**_

_Elisabeth carefully wiped at an imaginary speck of dirt that she thought was spoiling her new dress. She'd just gotten it for her seventh birthday, and she was being very careful to keep it clean._

"_Hannie! Hannie, c'mon, let's go inside, I don't want to get my dress dirty!" _

_Hannah didn't answer, but remained where she was: crouched in the dirt, by the corner of their apartment building._

"_Hannie, you're going to get your dress all dirty, too, if you sit in the mud! Look, it's already all over the back."_

_When Hannah still didn't answer, Elisabeth carefully picked her way through the dirt and street dust to her sister's side. As she approached, Elisabeth could see Hannah's shoulders shaking with small sobs. "Hannah? What's the matter?" _

_Hannah turned to look at her, tears running down her cheeks. "He was just lying there," she sobbed. "What's wrong with him?"_

_Elisabeth was immediately alarmed, but breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the source of her sister's distress, "Oh, Hannie."_

_Cradled carefully in her little sister's arms was a newborn kitten. It was stiff and Elisabeth was willing to bet that its mother and its littermates had moved on some time ago. Elisabeth knelt down beside her sister, disregarding her clean dress to put her arm around Hannah's shoulders._

"_He's gone, Hannie. He was probably too little." She said, almost motherly, as she gave her a small squeeze. "Do you want to bury him? C'mon, we'll give him a proper funeral. Stay here, I'll be right back." Elisabeth stood, shaking the real dirt off her dress before running into the building. She reappeared moments later, a small box in hand. Gently taking the lifeless form from her sister, she placed it inside the box._

_Elisabeth reached down for her sister's hand, pulling her to her feet. Hannah tearfully followed her sister to a small park that was on the corner of their block. They both fell to their knees on a patch of grass, Elisabeth digging her hands into the grass and dirt, making a small hole. They buried the box, and both stood to their feet, Hannah's cheeks still stained from her tears. _

_Elisabeth silently reached out for her sister's hand and they walked back to their home together, dirty hand in dirty hand._

Hannah tossed her book aside in irritation. Fifteen minutes had passed, and she'd only managed to read one paragraph... three times.

"Forget it, I'm going out." She said aloud, almost as if speaking it made it okay.

She picked up her wrap and pinned her hat in place quickly, afraid she was going to loose her nerve if she took to long to leave. Hannah hurried down the stairs and out the front door, pausing as she entered the fresh air. She glanced around, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Hannah took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. She chided herself for her ridiculous behaviour, and then made her way off the stoop and onto the street, making her way to Mrs. Greskin's home. If she timed it right, she could catch Becky, right as she was leaving.


	11. Chapter Ten

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Bolt's Boarding House**_

Bolt shoved away from the wall he'd been leaning against. He wasn't going to spend his ten hours moping on a roof, that was for sure. He was going to do what he could to end this before it he was pulled any deeper into it. Or, really, before Hannah was pulled any deeper into it. He practically ran down the fire escape, his shoes clanking loudly on the iron steps. He was on the street, and turned towards Brooklyn, before he knew it, a steely resolve evident in his brown eyes.

Bolt walked quickly. Now that he'd finally decided to do something, he couldn't stand going slowly. He was mentally kicking himself as he went for taking so long to make a move as it was. If he'd just gone and dealt with it in the beginning, Hannah wouldn't have had a brick thrown at her, and she wouldn't be doubting him right now. He shook his head to clear it of the nagging thoughts, knowing he was going to have to have his mind on his task if he was going to live through the next week.

There was only one thing he could think to do. One person who might know more about this then he did, and he had every intention of finding him. And giving him a good look at the outside of his fist if he had anything to do with the brick flying through the window of Avery's. Bolt rubbed his hand over his eyes, his severe lack of sleep starting to get to him.

He stepped off the Brooklyn Bridge, and immediately lost himself in the memories, forgetting to heed his own warning.

**_New York City, 1897_**

_**Lower Manhattan, **_

_**The Glass Factory**_

"_The ring?" Bolt questioned, feeling slightly like a parrot. _

"_Yeah. Also known as The Glass Factory," Spot replied, his eyes appraising the room like a proud father._

_Before he could stop himself, the words were out of his mouth, "The Glass Factory?"_

_Spot glanced over him, a look of mild annoyance, mixed with one of superiority, on his face, "Yeah, The Glass Factory. Can you do anything other than repeat me, kid?"_

"_Sorry. Why's it called The Glass Factory?" _

"_Well, lots of things get broken in here, if you know what I mean," Spot replied, a smirk playing over his features._

_Bolt nodded slowly, as if he understood, though in reality he didn't have the faintest idea what Spot was going on about. The idea to slowly back away entered his mind, but he thrust it out of his thoughts, his curiosity stronger than his wariness. He wanted to know what all this was about. And how he was going to become a part of it._

_He glanced around the room again, this time noticing a faint square that was painted haphazardly in the middle of the room. He was slowly beginning to understand what Spot was talking about. He wasn't sure if it was the fight he had just survived, or his lack of any kind of thinking over the last several months, but his brain was moving sluggishly slow. _

_So it was a boxing ring of sorts? Bolt desperately tried to put the pieces together, but the pounding in his head was keeping him from coming to any real conclusion._

"_Ever hear of Monk Eastman, kid?" Spot asked, leading him once again, towards the back of the room._

"_Yeah, sure, I've heard of him. Some big shot gangster. What's he got to do with all this?"_

_Spot glanced over at Bolt from the corner of his eye, "Everything. He owns this joint. It's an underground boxing ring. People from all over the city come here on Friday nights, and gamble on different fighters. There are two different 'teams'. Both teams have a leader. A manager so to speak… I'm one of them."_

_Bolt digested that information for a moment, before asking, "Who's the other?"_

"_Nobody you need to worry about. You need to worry about training. Meet Bull." Spot stopped short in front of a massive man. He had to stand at least 6'5, and his bicep was easily as large as Bolt's waist. "Your trainer."_

_Bolt's eyes widened, as he took in the sight of Bull; the trainer who was aptly named. "My what?! Now, wait a minute, I haven't agreed to anything yet."_

"_Sure you did," Spot replied calmly, as if he knew everything, "If you don't agree, you'll just be going back to that lousy factory job, being beat up by the Jimmys. You'd rather do that?"_

_Bolt glared at the floor, knowing Spot was right. If he hadn't lashed out that afternoon, chances were he could have gone on ignoring them, but the fact was he had lashed out, and they weren't the type to forgive and forget. "Alright, fine," he agreed, nodding at Spot. _

_Spot smirked one last time before giving a slight nod in Bull's direction and disappearing through a door in the back of the room._

"_So, where do we start?" Bolt questioned, turning back towards Bull. He hadn't even turned fully around when he felt the all too familiar sensation of a fist connecting with his jaw. The sheer force behind the blow sent him reeling and he lost his balance, crashing roughly to the floor._

_Bolt remained where he landed, his whole body jarred from the hit. He'd never been hit so hard in his life, and the impact had caused all the injuries the Jimmys had inflicted to start aching again. He fought off the urge to throw up, his stomach convulsing with each breath he managed to take._

_Bull crouched down next to him, resting his elbows on his beefy legs, "Lesson one: Never turn your back on your attacker."_


	12. Chapter Eleven

Bolt shoved his hands into his pockets, turning down the all too familiar alleyway. He paused at the steel door, staring at it for a moment, before pounding on it with the side of his fist. The door opened a crack, and Bolt could see a single eyeball, peering out.

Bolt leaned forward, winking, "Hey, Tiny, how's the business?"

The eye narrowed for a minute, before the door swung shut, only to open wide a few seconds later, revealing a very nervous looking Tiny. "Bolt, what are you doing here? If the boss catches you hanging around, it'll be your neck."

"Yeah, well, you let me worry about my neck. Is Spot around?"

"In the back," Tiny replied, jerking his head in the direction of Spot's makeshift office.

Bolt stepped inside, having to squeeze past Tiny's bulky form to do so. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the light, surveying the room. It was almost exactly as he remembered it, even down to the broken chairs. "I can see you guys have really fixed this place up," he commented dryly.

"Listen, Bolt, I don't think this is such a good idea… you should leave. I'll let Spot know you were here—"

"Don't worry about it, Tiny, you never saw me," Bolt replied, patting the large man on the shoulder, before striding across the deserted room. He stopped before the door to Spot's office, knocking.

"Not now, I'm busy," came the reply from inside.

Bolt turned the knob anyways, entering the room, and shutting the door behind him. He waited as Spot turned to see who dared to ignore his command, and couldn't help but smile as Spot's angry look turned to one of surprise.

"Well, I'll be," he smirked, leaning back in his chair, "If it isn't Bolt Henderson. Did ya miss the joint? Couldn't wait to get back in the ring?"

Bolt crossed his arms. "Spot, be honest with me. Do you have anything to do with what's going on?"

Spot raised his eyebrows, his cocky look never leaving his face. "Depends, what's going on?"

Bolt frowned, trying to decide if he was being played. With Spot it was hard to tell. Finally he sighed, sinking into one of the chairs opposite Spot's desk. He glanced over the cards that were lying out across the desktop – all royals. There was a sharp razor lying on the desk as well. Spot was marking a deck of cards. "Real busy, huh?"

Spot shrugged, smirk still in place, "Yeah. Can't be disturbed, ya make the mark too deep and someone'll catch it." He waited a beat, studying Bolt with his cool gray eyes, "So, what's going on? Or, did you just come over to catch up on old times? I can always have Tiny bring us some tea."

Bolt sighed, leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, "Someone's trying to get to me."

"Really." It was more a statement than a question, but Bolt nodded an affirmative anyway.

"I'm straight now, Spot. I don't want nothin' to do with any of this stuff. I got a girl. And a job. I even have some money saved up, back from my fight days. I've got plans."

Spot leaned forward now, "You know who it is?"

"If I did, I wouldn't have come here. I thought…" Bolt trailed off, not wanting to finish the train of thought.

"You thought it might be me," Spot finished for him. "Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don't have anything to do with it. It's all I can do to keep my hand in the game, what with all these new players around. It's not like it used to be, Bolt. Things are changing, fights are getting dirtier. Almost all of them are rigged these days. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem turning a profit on illegal bets, you know that. But things are getting out of hand. The deep pockets that come in here are smarter than they're given credit for. They're going to start figuring out that they're being cheated. And me? I'm getting out, as soon as the opportunity presents itself. I'm not going down with this ship." Spot leaned back again, his eyes thoughtful.

They were both silent for a minute, while Bolt absorbed this new information.

"You know of anybody who might have it out for you?" Spot finally asked, breaking the silence.

Bolt considered the question, thinking back.

**_New York City, 1897_**

_**Brooklyn, **_

_**The Glass Factory**_

_Bolt held his hands out to Spot, allowing the older boy to wrap ragged strips of cloth around his knuckles. It wasn't much, but it did offer a small buffer between his knuckles and whatever he would be making contact with. Spot finished the wrap, tying a knot in the cloth. "You ready?" he asked, his voice steady._

_Bolt nodded, his mind already in the fight. He accepted the cigarette Spot offered, lighting it with a match from his pocket. Once the tip was burning red, he shook out the match's flame before inhaling deeply, allowing the nicotine to calm his nerves. He'd been fighting for six months now and he still felt a rush of adrenaline before every match._

_He blew the smoke out slowly, pausing before his next drag to ask a question, "Any big shots here tonight?" _

_Spot shrugged, "I hear Judge Porter showed up about fifteen minutes ago. Carrying quite a wad with him too. You win this match, and we'll be set for a while."_

_Bolt nodded again, considering his opponent. They'd fought before and Bolt knew his weaknesses. Spot had a tendency to study the rival fighters, learning how they moved, and where they came up short. They'd spent the greater part of the week going over the shortcomings of Webster North, and Bolt was confident in a win._

_Spot flicked his cigarette butt into the trashcan, and Bolt did the same, after one final drag._

"_Alright, kid, let's make this quick. I've got places to be tonight."_

_Bolt cracked a grin at that, "Don't worry, Spot, the bars'll still be open long after this fight's over."_

"_Watch it smart-ass, or a bar is where you'll find yourself employed for the rest of your life," Spot returned, used to the easy camaraderie that had developed between the two. He pulled the door of the office open, gesturing for Bolt to lead the way. "Ladies first."_

_Bolt just shook his head as he crossed the threshold._


	13. Chapter Twelve

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Manhattan**_

Becky spotted Hannah as soon as she stepped on to the street. "Hannah! What are you doing down here? And are you alright, I heard about what happened down at Avery's yesterday, was it awful? Are you okay?"

Hannah forced a small smile, "I'm fine, just a small cut, is all." She hesitated as she turned to walk in step with Becky.

"Are you sure?" Becky asked, watching her from the corner of her eye, "You're acting a little strange. First Elijah, and now you. You two aren't planning on eloping or anything, are you?"

"No, of course not!" Hannah exclaimed, her cheeks flushing. She fought the sensation before sighing in resignation. Becky's incredulous look was too much and, perhaps, it would be better for her if she had someone she could talk this over with – someone that was not Elisabeth. "Becky… if I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?"

Becky's face turned serious, her teasing melting away. She stopped walking, causing Hannah to stop as well. "This is serious, isn't it?"

Hannah nodded, biting her lip nervously.

"Of course, Hannah. I won't tell a soul. What is it?"

Hannah shook her head, her nervousness still written across her face. "Not here. Can we go to your apartment? It's closer then mine."

Becky nodded, her eyes immediately showing her concern. "Of course."

They walked the two blocks to Becky's flat in silence. When they arrived, they were greeted by Becky's mother, who had been sitting in a wooden rocking chair, mending a pair of men's trousers.

"Hello Mrs. Carter, how are you?" Hannah greeted the older lady politely, a sincere, albeit somewhat strained, smile on her face.

"Why, Hannah! It's so good to see you dear, it's been too long," Mrs. Carter pushed herself out of the creaking chair, crossing the room to kiss her daughter on the cheek, before turning to Hannah, and kissing her cheek sweetly, too. For some reason, the small gesture caused Hannah's heart to clench in her chest, and she had to blink to hold back a sudden wave of tears.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, mentally chiding herself for the sudden flood of emotions. She felt like a small child, and that everything would be okay again, if only she had her mother with her.

Becky pulled on Hannah's arm. "We'll be in my room, Mama."

Hannah followed Becky into the small room she shared with her younger brother, glad that the little boy wasn't around.

"Benny's out selling newspapers," Becky answered Hannah's unspoken question.

Hannah nodded, settling down onto Becky's neatly made bed, as Becky perched across from her, resting on Benny's mattress.

"So, are you going to tell me what's happening?"

Hannah pulled out the crumpled note once again, pausing before showing it to Becky. "You can't tell anyone, alright?" she asked, making sure that Becky understood her request.

Becky nodded, and Hannah gave her the note.

Becky scanned it, reading the scrawled writing twice before looking back up at her friend. "Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice a few octaves higher then it usually was.

"It was wrapped around the brick."

"Wrapped around—you mean the one that broke the window at Avery's? That was meant for you?!"

Hannah nodded miserably, "I don't know what to do. What has Elijah gotten himself into?"

"Oh, Hannah," was all Becky could say, as she moved to sit down next to her friend. She slipped her arm around Hannah's shoulders. "Did you show Elijah?"

"Yes. This morning. He told me to go inside and not to go back out until I heard from him again. But I couldn't just sit there and do nothing, Becky. It was driving me mad!"

Becky squeezed Hannah's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all this. I mean… it's Elijah." She attempted to grin, trying to calm her friend with her words.

It did not seem to work. "I know. It just doesn't add up. But he wouldn't give me a straight answer." Hannah sighed, leaning her head on Becky's shoulder. She felt lost – lost and alone.

**_New York City, 1902_**

_**Brooklyn, **_

_**The Glass Factory**_

Bolt sighed, shaking his head wearily. He felt as if he'd aged forty years in the last two days. "I don't know," he told Spot, wiping his hand over his face, "it doesn't matter anyways." He pulled his father's pocket watch from his vest, clicking it open and glancing at the time, "Besides, I'll know who it is in a few hours."

"I take it you think it's someone from your days in the ring?"

"Yeah. It's gotta be. What I don't get is why whoever it is waited so long. I mean, it's been, what? Two years now?"

Spot nodded. "Maybe because whoever it was couldn't reach you."

Bolt furrowed his brow at that. "What are you getting at?" Spot wasn't one to voice an empty theory.

"Well, the timing's kinda perfect, aint it? What with Conners getting out of jail last week, and all." Spot delivered the news casually, almost as if he were commenting on the weather.

Bolt sat up straighter. "Conners? Joe Conners is out of jail?"

Spot's lips twitched in amusement; it had been the reaction he was looking for. "Aint that somethin'? Let him out last Friday. Word on the street is Judge Porter is pissed as hell. Sentenced him to ten years, only to have the powers that be shave off eight of them."

"Judge Porter put him away?" Bolt asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

"It's his name on the papers."

"Well," breathed Bolt finally, as the initial shock of the news wore off, "I guess that explains more than it doesn't."

Spot rubbed his chin thoughtfully, studying Bolt's face. "So, what are you going to do about it, Henderson?"

Bolt ran a nervous hand through his hair, shrugging. "Wish I knew. I guess I'll just take it as it comes."

Spot rolled his eyes. "That's the problem with you fighters. You don't think. Use your brain, Henderson. You can be sure Conners is going to be using his."

"Right now, the only thing I'm thinking about is Hannah."

Spot snorted at Bolt's sincerity.. "Touching, I'm sure," he smirked before pausing – as if he was thinking about something. His eyebrow quirked. "Do they know about her?"

Bolt nodded, almost dejectedly. "Yeah. They definitely know about her. Sent a brick through a window, note to her attached."

Spot whistled appreciatively at that. "You better get her out of town, if you want to keep her alive."

Bolt winced; it wasn't a fate he wanted to entertain. Spot caught the look. "You can't ignore it. Covering your eyes aint going to make it go away."

Bolt nodded. He knew Spot was right. What he didn't know was how he was going to convince Hannah to leave town without telling her everything.

But he could use his savings to get her far away, out of danger, until this all blew over. At least that was something.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Bolt pushed to his feet, nodding at Spot. "I guess I'd better get going, if I'm going to be on time."

"Listen, let me know what happens," Spot said, standing as well. "This has the unmistakable look of a great opportunity to it."

Bolt nodded, his mind already on the meeting ahead, as he clapped Tiny on the back again. He muttered a quick, "See ya," to the great man before he exited the building, slipping his hand back into his pocket, absentmindedly fiddling with his father's watch.

For the most part, Bolt accepted his father's death now, if only because he never thought of it. He blocked out most of the memories from his childhood, generally content with the life he was leading now. He had Hannah, he had a small chunk of money saved up from his fight days, and he had a job that at least gave him a steady, albeit small, income.

But, as he headed off to that meeting, he found himself thinking about him again, and his mind wandered to what had really happened to his father.

**_New York City, 1880_**

_**Brooklyn**_

_William Henderson wiped his clammy hands on his pants before opening the door to the small restaurant. He waited as his eyes adjusted to the light, glancing around the dingy room. He finally spotted the man he was supposed to be meeting, seated with his back to the wall in a dark corner of the restaurant. Joe Conners. Founder of the Conners Gang, which was still fairly new, but none the less intimidating. And Joe Conners was quickly proving his worth as a gang leader. _

_There was another man with him, standing back and to the right of the chair; William could only assume he was some sort of body guard._

_William swallowed, willing his nerves to calm. He made his way over to the table, lowering himself into the seat directly opposite the man. _

"_You're late." Conners settled further back into the shadows. Whether the move had been intentional or not, William couldn't tell. But it served to make him all the more nervous._

"_I beg your pardon, sir," William could hear the tremble in his own voice, and he despised himself because of it, "I came as soon as I could. The factory—" _

_William's words were cut off. "The factory is unimportant, don't you think, William?"_

"_Well, no, sir. I—I mean, yes, sir, if you say it is," William stuttered, struggling to form a coherent sentence._

_Connors seemed to regard him for a moment, before speaking again. "Do you know why I asked to meet you here, William?"_

"_No, sir. I don't,"William replied honestly._

"_I brought you here, because I have heard that you're in need of some money. And I, being the giving fellow that I am, wish to assist you with that." His words dripped from his mouth like oil._

"_Well—thank you sir. That's very kind of you." William was surprised, but he wasn't stupid. He knew this man wasn't the kind to just hand out money. His mouth felt as if it was lined with cotton, and yet his palms still managed to stay damp._

"_Yes, of course. But I'll need you to do something for me, in return. You understand, don't you? After all, a man can't just be expected to hand over one hundred dollars," he let those words fall slowly, allowing each one to settle before saying the next, "with nothing in return." He leaned forward in his seat, and William could see his teeth flash in a grin._

"_I'm sorry," William began hoarsely, before clearing his throat, "I'm sorry, sir, did you say one hundred?"_

"_Did I say one hundred, Tony?" he glanced back at the large man who was standing behind him._

_The man kept his eyes on William as he nodded a yes._

"_Well, then, I guess I did. Would you be willing to make an arrangement, William?"_

_It unnerved him, to hear this man he'd never actually met before continually refer to him by name, but a hundred dollars was a fortune he couldn't afford to pass up. "Yes, I think we can make an arrangement. What would you have me do?"_

"_Go back to your home. Tony here will find you when I need you. And whenever that is, I expect you to be ready. Understood?"_

_William swallowed once more, "Understood, sir."_

"_Good. Here's the first fifty. Wait to hear from me." The man tapped an envelope on the table, before standing to his feet, and placing his hat on his head, "It was a pleasure doing business with you, William."_

_With that, Tony and the man left, and William sat in silence for a moment. He was startled from his thoughts when a young waitress approached his table._

"_Can I get you anything to eat or drink, sir?"_

_William started to shake his head no, he didn't have the money to eat in restaurants, when his eyes fell across the envelope on the table. "Yes, yes, bring me your most expensive meal. Whatever it is. That's what I'll have."_

_The waitress eyed him strangely for a moment, before turning away to do as she was bidden. _

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Brooklyn**_

Bolt found himself on the Brooklyn Bridge for the second time that day. He was headed back to the Bowery, to the Bluebird Café. He dug his hands a little deeper into his pockets and lowered his head against the gusting wind. His thoughts traveled back to Hannah once again, wondering what she was thinking about all this.

He knew she was upset, that much had been evident when he had left her that morning. He couldn't remember a time when she had ever been upset with him before. It was almost surreal, the relationship they had.

Smiling against the wind, he thought back to the first Christmas they had shared together. It hadn't seemed so cold, then.

_**New York City, 1900**_

_**Christmas Eve**_

_Elijah struck the match again, guarding it against the wind with his hand, as he attempted one last time to light the candle he had purchased – it was special; he had bought it just for that night. He sighed in relief when the wick finally caught the flame. _

"_Elijah? Are you here?" Hannah stepped onto the flat roof of his boarding house, pulling her wrap a little tighter to ward off the winter chill._

"_I'm over here," he said, stepping across the roof to greet her. He offered his arm, helping her across the roof, to where he had a small spread of food._

"_Elijah!" Hannah couldn't help but let a small giggle escape, and she instantly covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed. "I can't believe you did all this."_

_Elijah grinned back, amazed at the way his heart jumped whenever he was around her. "Well, I had some help. Becky made most of the food; I just bought what she told me to."_

"_It's so sweet! Too bad I can't tell Elisabeth, she'd be jealous." Hannah smiled, lowering herself onto the chair Elijah had carried up from his room._

"_I still don't understand why you can't tell your sister," Elijah replied, leaning against the ledge, his brown eyes searching hers._

"_I know. It's just Ellie, she worries too much. I'm going to tell her that we're courting though, I'm just waiting for the right time."_

"_Uh huh," Elijah winked at her, "let me know when that is, so I can stop sneaking around."_

_Hannah wrinkled her nose at him. "I like the sneaking, it's cute," she replied, doing her best to keep a straight face._

_Elijah raised his eyebrows at her, "I for one, am not cute. I'm… ruggedly handsome. There's a difference."_

_Hannah laughed at that. "Oh of course, how could I have forgotten?" She watched him as he poured drinks for them both, blushing a little bit when he glanced up and caught her staring. "Do you—uh want to share the chair?" she asked._

_Elijah smiled as she slid to the side of the chair, and sat down next to her. "Thanks."_

_She lifted her glass up. "Merry Chistmas, Elijah."_

"_Merry Christmas."_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**_Wow. This chapter... took me forever. Aside from the fact that I've been crazily busy with other things, this one was just a hard time coming. I don't know why, but it was a pain in the butt. I'm hoping things will ease up after this, and I can return to my regular updates. That would be nice. Anyways, read and review, and I hope you enjoy!_**

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**_New York City_****_, 1902_**

**_The Bowery_**

The smile faded off Bolt's face as The Bluebird Café came into sight. He stood across the street from it for a moment, preparing himself for whatever lay ahead. He finally sighed, before squaring his shoulders and walking across the street. He was as ready as he would ever be.

**_New York City_****_, 1880_**

**_Brooklyn_**

_William's hands shook as they lit the cigarette. He drew in as much smoke as his lungs could handle, his eyes watering as it stung. His hand closed around the cool metal—the gun. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He couldn't believe he was holding a gun in his hand. He couldn't believe he was standing in an empty alley, waiting for his victim. He was waiting for his mark. That's what Conners had called the poor man... a mark. _

_The mark's name was Pete Walker. William didn't know what his significance was; all he knew was that he was going to be coming out of the pool hall in roughly five minutes, and it was William's job to shoot him._

_William reached into his pocket, pulling out the silver flask he had stowed there. He unscrewed the top, raising it to his lips, and tipping the liquid down his throat. It burned as it went down, much like the smoke had burned his lungs. He waited for the liquor to take it's affect and calm his jangled nerves._

_William's breath caught in his throat as the pool hall door opened. And there stood Pete Walker, just as Conners had said. _

_William lifted the shaking gun, took aim, and squeezed the trigger._

Bang.

_The backlash startled him, but he did as he was told, and squeezed off two more rounds. "No less than three shots," Conners had said. "Make sure he's good and dead." The shots were fired – the bangs echoed in his head… and Walker was dead._

_When it was done, William's hand fell limp at his side. The gun felt like it weighed a ton. His fingers lost their grip, and it clattered to the ground noisily. _

_He could see people pouring out of the pool hall now, and he backed away, going through the small opening on the other side of the alley, as he had planned._

_He felt numb. He couldn't believe he'd murdered someone. He couldn't believe he was a murderer._

**_New York City_****_, 1902_**

**_The Bowery_**

Bolt entered the restaurant, scanning the mostly empty room for the people he was supposed to be meeting. A man towards the back of the room stood, his teeth flashing in a humorless grin.

"Well, well, well... If it isn't Elijah Henderson. You know, Conners said it was you, but I didn't really believe him. I mean, you were a pretty scrawny kid, if I remember correctly."

Elijah did his best to bite back his shock, but he was sure some of it showed on his face, regardless. "Johnny? Johnny Walker?"

"How sweet, you remember. Have a seat, Henderson," Johnny replied, kicking out the chair across from him as he sat again.

Bolt lowered himself into the chair, warily eyeing Johnny, "So, what's this about Johnny? You work for Conners now?"

"Well, haven't you gotten all smart since our school days together? Yeah, I'm workin' for Conners. Seems that I wasn't the only one either." Johnny shook his head, "I just couldn't believe it when I heard you had been working for him. And as a fighter, no less. I mean he must have been pretty desperate, to have hired you."

"Yeah, well, maybe he was. So what is this, a happy reunion of some kind? Were you just missing me, Johnny?"

Johnny sneered at him, "Hardly. I've been talking to Conners. And he doesn't seem to have the fondest feelings for you, if you know what I mean."

Bolt leaned back, refusing to play Johnny's game. He waited silently for Johnny to explain what it was Conners wanted with him.

Johnny smiled smugly, enjoying his opportunity to be the one delivering this news. He was going to milk it for all it was worth. "It seems that a certain young boxer double crossed Conners… what was it now, two years ago?" He shook his head, feigning a concern that his smug smile was at odds with, "And, well, it seems Conners is none to happy with this guy."

Bolt frowned. "Get to the point, Johnny."

Johnny leaned forward in his seat, a glint in his eyes. "Conners is pissed that you didn't throw that fight. Stupid of you, really. All you had to do is lose, Henderson. But, then again, I've never thought of you as a smart one."

"So, what? What does he want from me now?" Bolt asked, waiting to hear what all this was really about. His patience, already thin to begin with, was fading quickly.

Johnny's smile slowly disappeared. "Well, for some reason, Conners is willing to offer you a deal. Couldn't tell you why. If it were me, I'd just waste you."

The careless way Johnny uttered those words caused his stomach to turn and, for a moment, Bolt had to wonder what it was that the other boy did, working for Conners. However, he kept his face straight. He would not let Johnny have the satisfaction of knowing how worried he was just then. "Yeah? What's this deal?" he asked, dreading what he was about to be told. But he knew he needed to be told...

"It's simple, really. You're going to throw a fight. You'll come back to the Factory, fight one fight, and Conners'll drop the whole thing."

Bolt furrowed his brow. It sounded too easy -- or, at least, it would have been if that was still his life. But times have changed and he continued to frown. "That's it? That's all he wants me to do, throw a fight? Well, I don't fight any more."

"Yeah, well that's too bad. I don't think you'll like the alternative." Johnny picked up a knife from the table, casually using it to clean his nails. "We know where your pretty little girlfriend lives, Henderson. What's her name again? Hannah Christina Evans? And her sister… hmm... Elisabeth Patrice Evans? Let's see... I believe they both live at 59 North Fletcher Street. Isn't that right?"

Bolt's jaw tightened and he was on his feet in a second, his voice as hard as steel. "Don't you dare, Walker. If you so much as lay a finger on them… You'll wish you'd never been born."

Johnny smiled mirthlessly. "Well, I doubt that. But, hey, throw the fight, and you won't have to worry about it." Johnny set the soiled knife back on the scratched tabletop, no hint of the playfulness lingering on his face. As much as he had been enjoying himself, he was serious now. "I'll be here tomorrow night. Same time. Let me know what you decide."

He stood then, before adding, "Oh, and if you don't show up… well, let's just say it will be _Hannah _that pays for that mistake." And, with that threat hanging in the air, he sauntered out of the restaurant.

Bolt watched Johnny leave the restaurant, his throat closing at the thought of anything happening to Hannah. His legs were heavy; he could not move. He just stared, lost in sudden thought.

What he didn't understand was just _why_ Conners wanted him to throw a fight. It didn't make any sense -- he could get anybody to do that -- so why him? Other than revenge, of course, Bolt couldn't think of any plausible reason. And revenge didn't really fit the bill either, because Bolt had heard stories of what Conners was capable of in the revenge business -- and this was nothing like that; like he had thought before, it was too easy. Then again, nothing about the past few days had made any sense to him at all...

He sighed roughly before pulling himself to his feet. Hands jammed in his pockets and head bowed as he tried his damndest to make _any _sense of this whole Conners matter, Bolt began to shuffle out of the Bluebird Café . Even though Walker had left, he had the feeling that it would be best not to stay behind. Besides, he had the sudden urge to go check up on Hannah.

Bolt just couldn't wrap his brain around what was going on. All of a sudden, his past life had resurfaced to claim him and, because of that, Hannah and her sister were in danger. Not to mention this whole mess was taking a severe toll on his nerves; he was becoming incredibly jumpy. Everywhere he went, he was waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows at him. Or worse, at Hannah...

He sighed again, more of a defeated breath this time, before pausing as he entered back onto the street.

There was not more than a second of streetlight on his worried face before a callused hand closed around his arm, jerking him violently back into an alley.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Manhattan**_

_**The **__**Carter's**__** Flat**_

Hannah looked out the window, grimacing at the dark streets. She'd stayed at Becky's apartment longer than she had intended to and now she would have to walk back to her boarding house in the dark.

"Are you sure you want to go back tonight?"

Becky's voice interrupted Hannah's thoughts and Hannah jumped slightly. She had not expected Becky's question, even if it was one she was pondering herself.

"I know you're not sure what's going on with Elijah," Becky continued when Hannah did not immediately respond, "but if he told you to stay put, he probably had a good reason for it."

Hannah sighed. Becky was right, but that did not mean that it was going to change her mind. "I know, but I want to be there if he comes by. I don't want to worry him. Or my sister, for that matter. She's expecting me to be there tonight."

Becky shrugged, laying her hand on Hannah's shoulder as she joined her at the window. "Worrying them would be wrong, I admit, but to walk home alone this late at night under _normal_ circumstances would be dangerous. You really should stay here, Hannah."

Hannah thought it over for a second before realizing that she was too anxious, too nervous to argue anymore. She finally nodded her agreement, turning a tired smile on her friend. "You're right, of course. If it's alright with you, I'll stay here tonight and go back tomorrow morning."

There was a hint of a victorious smile about Becky as she wrapped thin fingers around Hannah's upper arm and started to pull her gently from the window. "Come. Let's get ready for bed."

Hannah cast one last look out onto the dark New York streets before nodding. "Yes..."

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**The Bowery**_

_**Outside the Bluebird Caf**__**é**_

Bolt whirled around, his hands instantly curled into fists, and his heart racing as he looked to see who he was up against. As soon as he saw who it was, he relaxed his fingers, although his breathing remained quickened. "_Shit,_ Conlon! You tryin' to give me a heart attack? I'm on edge enough as it is, I don't need you adding to it." He ran his hand nervously through his hair, waiting for his pounding heart to return to its normal rhythm.

Spot didn't look the least bit flustered. Hands in his front pockets, he looked over Bolt. "So, was it Conners?" Spot asked directly, ignoring Bolt's outburst.

Bolt dragged his hand across his face. As if he wanted to remember? "Yeah. Well, it was Johnny. Johnny Tornado. But he was speaking for Conners. So, yeah."

Spot looked thoughtful, and he remained silent for a moment before speaking again. "What did he want?" he finally asked, breaking the short silence.

"He wants me to throw a fight," he replied, falling back against the brick wall of the alley.

Spot raised his eyebrows, not really impressed. "That's it?"

Bolt shrugged tiredly. "That's all he said. Just… throw a fight."

"There's more to it," Spot said, sounding sure, "Conners isn't going to let you off that easily."

Even though he would never admit to Spot—he didn't even want to admit it to himself yet—he knew Spot was right. "Yeah, that's what I thought. He wants me here tomorrow night, to let him know my decision, you know."

Spot rubbed his jaw, turning the facts over in his head. "I'll see what I can find out from my side. I'll get back to you tomorrow before you meet with him again."

Bolt nodded, too tired to question Spot about what he was going to be doing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Alright, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Keep your eyes open," Spot said, shooting Bolt a warning glance. "I wouldn't put it past Conners to try to pull something first."

"You too. If he finds out you're helping me?" Bolt trailed off, letting Spot fill in the blanks for himself.

Spot smirked, his cocky confidence clearly plastered across his face. "Do you think I got to where I am by accident? Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

Bolt turned, just about to leave the alley, when Spot spoke again, "You know, if you want to get your girl out of town, you better do it soon. The longer she's here, the more opportunity Conners is going to have to get to her."

Bolt gritted his teeth together at the thought, nodding his agreement. Spot Conlon definitely had the knack of making him feel even worse about the whole situation.

Still nodding to himself, he left the alley, pulling out his father's old pocket watch as he did so. It was late, too late to go talk to Hannah tonight. He chewed on his bottom lip, wondering if he should go over to her boarding house anyway. Even if he just sat outside on the steps, he could at least keep an eye on it and make sure nobody came around who wished to do her harm.

Bolt slid the watch back into his pocket, heading off towards Hannah's house. He'd stay up all night if he had too, just to make sure she was okay.

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Lower Manhattan**_

_**Joe **__**Conners'**__** Apartment**_

"I don't know, Boss. This ain't making any sense to me. If you really want to get your revenge on Henderson, why aren't you crushing him? I mean, all you're making him do is throw a fight? I don't get it."

Joe Conners looked up from his breakfast--Scrambled eggs and hot potatoes-- and fixed his eyes on his young guest as one might eye an annoying bug. "Johnny, don't ask me to explain things to you that you won't understand. It only wastes my time."

His words were patient but his tone was patronizing, and Johnny Tornado looked away, bitterness flooding his thoughts. He knew he was better than Conner, and someday he was going to prove it. As soon as he had the chance, he was going to be the leader of this gang. He'd make sure of it.

_Conners was an idiot_, he thought to himself _, if all his plans for Henderson centered around that stupid fight._

Conners, oblivious to Johnny's mutinous thoughts, just flicked his napkin carelessly. "Johnny, you should be going," he said, bringing the napkin up to wipe at his mouth, "I have an important meeting this morning. Don't you have your own business to take care of?"

Johnny cleared his throat, adopting a servile tone of voice again. "Of course, sir. I'll take care of it right now."

_Yeah, right after I stop into to see a few friends_he added to himself mentally. Johnny Tornado knew how to get along in this town. You had to know people and you had to have timing. Johnny had both of those and he was ready to make his move.

He smirked to himself as he left the apartment, pleased with the way things were turning out.

Conners sighed, watching out the window as Johnny left the building. He'd had his reservations about building Tornado up so quickly, but the kid had proved himself time and time again. Now he thought he was somebody important and who knew what he was going to try.

But that was the problem with Johnny Tornado. The kid thought he was invincible. Conners would have to take special care with him, a fact that annoyed him greatly. He didn't have time to be concerned about that--not now.

Joe Conners didn't trust anybody. He didn't operate on trust, he operated on fear. As long as the men who surrounded him feared him, he knew he could keep them in line.

A knock on the doorframe interrupted his thoughts, and Conners turned to see a maid standing there. "Your visitor is here, sir. He's in the parlor."

Conners smiled at the maid, patting her hand as he walked by. "Why, thank you, Bernice."

The girl flushed at the contact but did not move, except to curtsy. Conners smile widened as he left her behind him, heading straight to the parlor.

He entered the room, greeting his guest as he pulled the door closed behind him. He had been expecting this young man.

"Ah, Mr. Conlon," he said, all but purring. "As always, it is a pleasure."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Lower Manhattan**_

_**Hannah's Boarding House**_

Bolt jerked awake, his heart pounding from his steady nightmares. He grimaced at the crick in his neck, lifting a tired hand to rub his sore muscles. He'd fallen asleep sitting up, leaning against the front of the boarding house where the Evans sisters lived. Squinting up, Bolt tried to gauge how long he had slept. His eyes were met with a light gray sky, tinged with bits of pink and purple. Just after sunrise, then.

Bolt stood, wincing at the stiffness in his legs and back as he did so. He glanced up and down the street, which was just beginning to fill with people as the city came to life. Leaning back against the brick wall of the building, he turned the events of the past night over in his head. He'd gone over them time and time again before sleep had claimed him, and he still couldn't make sense of it.

He had come to one certain conclusion. Conners wanted more than just a thrown fight from him. The question was what? How could he care so much about one measly fighter? It wasn't as if Bolt had personally thrown him in jail, he had Judge Porter to thank for that fate. Unless there was something Bolt was missing. He leaned his head back against the brick wall, calling up the memory of that night, his last fight.

_**New York City, 1897**_

_**Brooklyn, **_

_**The Glass Factory**_

"_So, Porter's here, huh?" Bolt asked, stopping next to Spot in a hallway just outside of the main room. The fight wouldn't officially begin for a few more minutes, and people were still milling about, some trying to claim what few seats were scattered around the place. _

"_Yeah, he's here," Spot answered absently, eyeing the crowd. "So what, this isn't the first match he's shown up at."_

"_Yeah. I know." Bolt knew it wasn't the first match the Judge had attended. It also wasn't the first match where he'd been given a note; hand carried by one of Conners' own message boys. A note with implicit instruction to throw a fight. They were always detailed, telling him exactly when to take a hit, when to go down, and when to stay down. _

_The fact that these notes and the Judge's visit seemed to coincide left him with an uneasy feeling in his gut. The judge was sure to pick up on it soon, he wasn't stupid. He knew Spot was bound to catch on, too, especially if Conners kept asking him to throw fights with people he was so much better than. He was torn between telling Spot the truth, and just keeping it to himself; because when it came right down to it, there was nothing Spot could do. Conners was just as much Spot's boss as he was Bolt's and if the boss said to throw a fight, then that's what you did. The problem was, the more Bolt lost, the more money they lost, and he knew Spot wouldn't be able to stand for that. He'd probably do something stupid, like confront Conners, and get himself killed._

"_Hey you in there?" Spot asked, irritation in his voice as he snapped his fingers right in front of Bolt's face, "Get it together and get out there, North aint gonna wait forever."_

_Bolt shook his head as if to clear it from the bothersome thoughts, "Right. Sorry—"_

"_Well, don't apologize, just go!" Spot said; an ill hid smirk of amusement on his face, as he shoved Bolt forward._

_With that Bolt was moving, threading through the crowd that either cheered or booed him, he made his way to the ring. He also made his way to a decision, setting his jaw in determination. Tonight would be his last fight. He'd been wanting to leave the Glass Factory for too long now, and it was time he actually made it happen… and Conners could forget a thrown fight, he wasn't going to duck out on Spot that way. He'd win, make his friend a good handful of money, and then book it out of there. If he was lucky he'd be able to stay out of Conners' way. After all, surely the gang leader had bigger things to worry about than a simple fight. _

_His decision made, Bolt fought like the fighter he'd become. His jabs and hooks rained down on North faster than he had time to register them. Not surprisingly, Bolt won the match in record time, and quickly ducked out of the ring, for once thankful for the crowd of bodies that would give him a good cover for escaping the warehouse before anyone caught up with him._

_And then he was gone. Just like that, the fighter known as Bolt disappeared from the ring._

_**New York City, 1902**_

_**Lower Manhattan**_

_**Hannah's Boarding House**_

The door of the boarding house swung open, and Bolt was pulled from his memories, coming face to face with Elisabeth.

"Elisabeth," he greeted, startling the girl.

She whipped around to face him, hand over her heart as if she'd received a sudden shock. "Elijah! Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?"

"What?" Bolt questioned, caught off guard by Elisabeth's frantic questions, "Know where who—" Suddenly it struck him, and he took hold of Elisabeth's shoulders, panic settling in his eyes, "Ellie, where's Hannah? Where is she?"

For once Elisabeth didn't have a snobby retort ready; instead she just stared at him, shaking her head silently. Her eyes were filled with tears when she finally found her voice again, "I don't know. She never came home last night! First that brick through the window at Avery's and now this… Elijah, you tell me right now! What is going on?! What have you done, I know it must be you, I knew you were no good—"

Elijah's grip on her shoulders tightened a little and he gave her a gentle shake, silencing her tirade. Having Elisabeth Evans panicking wasn't going to help anybody.

"Listen to me, Ellie," He said, making her meet his gaze, and attempting to keep his voice calm, even though on the inside he was feeling about the same as she looked, "you've gotta go back inside. I mean it. Go back up to your room, and stay there, you hear me?"

Elisabeth was already shaking her head, "I can't! If I don't show up for work, Judge Porter will fire me!"

"Ju—You work for Judge Porter?" Elisabeth continued to stare at him, eyes widened in fear. He shook his head, releasing her shoulders finally, but keeping his eyes glued on hers. He spoke fast, hoping the girl would be able to understand what he was saying, "Never mind, it doesn't matter. Go straight there then. Don't stop for nobody, no matter what they say, you got me? And don't leave by yourself, I'll send somebody down there to walk you home. What time do you get off?"

"Four. But what about Hannah?" Elisabeth's uncertainty made her voice sound small… childlike, and Elijah forced out a small breath, trying to calm himself. There was no need to get Elisabeth worked up, after all, it could be nothing.

"Don't worry about her, I'll find her. I'm sure she's got a good explanation for not coming home last night." Elijah waited until he received a doubtful nod from Elisabeth before releasing her shoulders and taking off at a run, weaving through the crowded street with ease.

Elisabeth watched him run off, her feet frozen to the steps. She was startled out of her reverie when the door swung open behind her, striking her back and almost pushing her off the small porch.

"Oh! I'm sorry dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Brennen, "but you really shouldn't be standing there, people need to get out!" She eyed Elisabeth suspiciously for a moment, "You know, dear, I didn't hear young Miss Evans come in last night, and I daresay she hasn't left this morning… I don't suppose it's any of my business, but it's really not proper for her to be out all night—and that young man! I can't—"

"No, Mrs. Brennen. It isn't any of your business," Elisabeth interrupted her sharply, her blue eyes snapping as she fixed the old landlady with a cool stare, "And if you'll excuse me, I must be going. Good day, Mrs. Brennen."

"Well I never!" Mrs. Brennen exclaimed, her eyes widened, and her pale cheeks an interesting shade of red.

Elisabeth offered a curt nod, before turning on her heel, and leaving the old lady to figure out what had just happened. She smiled grimly to herself as she walked to the courthouse, Hannah would have been shocked if she had heard the way her sister had just spoken to Mrs. Brennen. As far as Elisabeth was concerned, she could lecture her sister on her questionable social habits until she was blue in the face, but far be it for anyone else to try it.

How Elisabeth even made it to the courthouse that morning was beyond her. So lost in her thoughts, she was almost surprised when her feet found the courthouse steps. She climbed them slowly, all the while becoming more and more worried for Hannah. She hadn't noticed it at the time—she'd been so worried in her own right—but now she'd had time to absorb the events of the morning, and she was even more concerned, if that was even possible. Elijah had definitely been acting strange—stranger than usual. And asking her to stay at work until he sent someone to walk her home… it was just ridiculous.

Elisabeth paused as she reached the massive front doors of the courthouse, mulling over it. What had her little sister gotten herself into?

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, causing her to jump; a startled scream escaping her lips before she could stop it.

"Miss Evans?"

Elisabeth turned slowly, her hand on her chest as if that should somehow still the wild beating of her heart. "Oh, Judge Porter!" she exclaimed when she recognized the man, "You gave me a fright!" Elisabeth tried to laugh, but it came out shaky and unsure.

"My apologies, Miss Evans. Are you well? You look a mite pale, if it isn't too rude of me to say so." The question was uncharacteristic of the older man, and Elisabeth hesitated a moment before answering him. Judge Porter was known as a strict man, he dealt roughly with the criminals that came into his courtroom, and treated his staff with the same regard.

"Yes, sir, of course," Elisabeth stammered finally, still attempting to regain her poise, "Just startled, sir, that's all."

"Very well, then." The judge replied, nodding, "the files on the Conners case. I left them back in my home office. Pick them up for me, and bring them here. Be quick about it, I need them before ten."

Elisabeth hesitated, her mind replaying Elijah's instructions. _Don't leave by yourself, I'll send somebody down there to walk you home._

"Well then?" Judge Porter asked, raising his eyebrows at her hesitation.

"Oh… Yes, of course, Judge. I'll be back before ten," Elisabeth replied, forcing a tight smile. Judge Porter nodded and was gone, disappearing through the large doors. Elisabeth bit her lip, casting her glance down the street. It wasn't like she really had a choice, she reassured herself, he was her boss, and she had to do what he told her to.

**_((A/N- What?? An Author's note from me?! I know, shocker, right? Well, I just wanted to say sorry for the spastic updates... I'm taking 16 credits this summer, and most of them are in this six week session (which means each class is four hours long, and I have... let's see, five papers due within the next four weeks? Maybe six, I can't remember. Anyways, needless to say, it's slowing me down a bit. Good news though, I do have the rest of the fic plotted out, and I'm guessing we have about ten more chapters remaining before I finish (and that's including an epilogue) A huge thanks to everyone who's been reviewing this! You have no idea how happy it makes me, and also how much it inspires me to get crackin' on the next chapter! And a special thanks to Morning Glory, Stress and Keza, who have faithfully reviewed every chapter, you guys rock! Ok, I'll shut up now. Thanks for reading!))_**


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**_Um, hi, guys. First of all thanks again for those of you who are reviewing. Links and Stress and Kez, and anybody I'm forgetting... You guys make me want to write this. Please forgive any grammar/spelling errors, I'm late for class as I post this, but I wanted to go ahead and get it up. Kez, (Kettle...) If you're wondering, this isn't actually the chapter I was talking about last night. I forgot I was a little behind in my posting. But yeah, I'm gonna shut up now and let you all read. Enjoy!_**

* * *

Hannah's heart was pounding in her chest. She knew no one was following her, but she'd been nervous ever since she left Becky's house. Drawing in a deep breath, Hannah forced herself to calm down, to ignore the rapid beating of her heart.

As she slowed her steps, and looked around, she couldn't help but think every face she passed was watching her, following her. To her left, a large man brought a cleaver down on a massive piece of meat. She flinched as the blade struck the meat, looking away from the butcher's window, a grimace on her face.

"Such a pretty little thing like you shouldn't be making such an ugly face," a voice whispered, right in her ear.

Hannah jumped, her heart in her throat, choking out the words that were trying to force their way to the surface. She opened her mouth to scream, but a large hand came across her mouth, another grabbing her arm, and with a forceful yank she was in an ally, the man's breath grazing her face, his rough stubble scratching against her cheek. Hannah could only breathe through her nose, her mouth still covered by what she identified on the edge of her mind as a filthy hand.

"Don't scream," the man whispered, his foul smelling breath making Hannah want to gag. Then all she knew was an explosion of pain in the back of her head, before darkness settled around her like a comforting blanket.

* * *

Elisabeth fought her way through the crowds of people; she'd seen her sister for just a moment, before the crowds closed in and blocked her view. She shoved a well-dressed lady out of the way, ignoring her protests, and racing on unsteady high heeled shoes to get to where she'd seen her little sister. A muffled scream caught her attention, and she whipped her head around, her eyes frantically taking in the busy streets. There she was. A man was standing behind her, his hand over her mouth as he dragged her back into an alley.

"Hannah!" The name was out of her mouth with a scream, and she shoved as hard as she could to work her way through the crowds. Tears of fear were coursing down her cheeks, "Hannah!"

Elisabeth shoved past one final group of people, stumbling into the alley entrance, her stomach knotted as she frantically searched for her sister. The alley was empty, and Elisabeth's lungs seemed to stop working. "Hannah!" She screamed again, seemingly the only word she still knew how to vocalize.

A strong hand gripped her arm, twisting her around forcefully, and her screams stuck in her throat. "Ellie, did you see her?"

Elijah. It was only Elijah. Ellie stared at him blankly, her brain desperately trying to weave its thoughts together, as she stared up into his worried eyes. He gripped her on the shoulders, giving her one firm shake as he repeated his question, "Did you see here?!"

Ellie nodded, swallowing hard. "There was a man, he grabbed her, and dragged her into here," she glanced back, looking into the depths of the alley again as if maybe, somehow she'd be there this time. "He was big, Elijah, really big, and filthy!" Elisabeth dissolved into tears, her shoulders shaking with her hysterical sobs.

"Ellie, you've got to calm down." Bolt's voice was edged with steel as he looked down at her, maintaining his grip on her shoulders, "Which way did he take her?"

"I don't know, I didn't see."

"What do you mean you didn't see?!" Bolt replied, his voice rising in anger and frustration.

"I mean, I didn't see! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I was trying to get to her, but I lost her in the crowd," Elisabeth was wailing now, her cheeks stained with tears which continued to pour unchecked from her eyes.

Bolt released his hold on her shoulders, pacing a few steps away, and running his hand roughly through his hair, "Stop crying." He glanced back at her, gritting his teeth against his annoyance, knowing this wasn't Ellie's fault, making his next words gentler, "Come on. Obviously you can't stay put when I tell you to, so you're going to have to come with me, so I can keep an eye on you."

"Where are we going? Do you know where they took her?" Elisabeth trotted after him quickly, trying to keep up with his purposeful stride.

"No. But I know somebody who will know. So we're going to see him."

Elisabeth nodded, deciding it best to remain silent, as Elijah didn't seem to be in the mood to talk to her.

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Conlon. It's good to know I have somebody I can count on." Conner's voice was laced in gratitude as he ushered the younger man to the front door, offering a firm handshake, "I'm sure you're quite capable of taking care of those details we discussed. Make sure to let me know, as soon as it's done."

"Of course, sir," Spot replied, a confident smirk in place as he left the man's home, finding himself once more in the crisp air of the fall morning. He listened as the door closed behind him, the lock clicking audibly, before he rejoined the morning foot traffic.

His steps were quick as he walked back to the Glass Factory, though they faltered, of only for a moment, when he saw who was waiting for him there. "Bolt," he greeted once he was in earshot, " Is this the girl?"

"The girl" glared at him when he spoke, and he couldn't help but grin a little at her, tipping his cabby hat in a show of mock respect.

"Please tell me this… short little man isn't the person you said would help us," Elisabeth sneered, her fear for Hannah temporarily forgotten as she found an immediate dislike for the new arrival. He smirked in amusement, clearly not offended by her comment as he reached past her to strike his fist against the metal door.

"She's right feisty," he commented offhandedly to Bolt, his eyes grazing Elisabeth as he spoke, "not the type I thought you'd go for."

"This isn't Hannah." Bolt's words were short, lacking any hint of frivolity as he looked down at Spot, "Hannah was kidnapped. I need to know where to find her."

Spot's gaze was ripped from its perusal of Elisabeth, all humor aside as he met Elijah's steady gaze. He turned away as the door opened a crack, "Clear out, Tiny, I'm in a hurry."

The door was quickly shut and reopened wider, Tiny standing back to permit the small group, "Sorry, Spot, I didn't realize it was you."

"Listen, Tiny, we'll be in my office. Don't let anybody in, ya hear me? I don't care if the mayor shows up, you keep that door closed."

Tiny nodded, his expression filled with confusion at the smaller man's request, "Of course, sir. Whatever you say."

Spot led the way back to his tiny office, waiting for both of them to enter, before closing the door behind them. "Sit." He commanded, moving around the side of his desk.

Elisabeth instantly lowered herself into a chair, but Bolt remained standing, his arms folded in front of his chest as he stared at his old friend, "Where'd they take her?"

Spot settled into his chair, his eyes thoughtful as he stared back at Bolt, responding with a question, "When did they take her?"

Bolt glanced down at Elisabeth, before turning back, "About thirty minutes ago."

Spot nodded, his eyes still thoughtful as he picked up his deck of cards, absentmindedly shuffling them as he thought, "Son of a—" He glanced over at Elisabeth, who's moment of bravery had drained away leaving a very pale looking girl in its place. "Well, he moved faster than I'd given him credit for. Stupid on my part, to underestimate him like that. But the good news is, I know where he must have put her. There are only two placed Conners would feel safe hiding her—" he paused his speech for a moment, glancing over at Elisabeth, asking suddenly, "Who exactly is she?"

"Hannah's sister. She saw it happen." Bolt responded, impatience evident in his voice.

Spot nodded, aiming his next question to Elisabeth, "Where were you? When you saw it, what part of town were you in?"

Elisabeth had pulled her white gloves off when she'd entered the room, and now she sat twisting them nervously. She glanced up, "I was at… 42nd, I think. Only a few streets down from Avery's. I was on my way to Judge Porter's house—"

"Jude Porter?" Spot asked, cutting her off, his brow furrowed at the name.

"She works for him," Bolt cut in, "But does that really matter right now? Where would they take Hannah?'

"Yeah, it matters. Everything matters," Spots reply was even and he sat back in his chair, digesting the information.

"Conlon," Bolt said, a dangerous edge to his voice as he stepped closer, "If you don't tell me where they're holding Hannah, I swear—"

"The shirtwaist factory," Spot replied calmly, cutting him off, "On the corner of 42nd and 6th. Conners owns it, he had the whole basement cleared out when he bought it, but nobody knows what for. Storage, was what he told people."

"You're sure?" Bolt asked, already turning to go back out into the city. Spot was up in a second, blocking the way to the door, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I'm sure. But you can't just go down there and waltz right in, expecting them to let you get her. They'll be waiting for you."

"Outta my way, Spot. You're mad if you think I'm just going to leave her there!"

"And you're mad if you don't think they'll shoot you on sight!" Spot replied, exasperated, "Honestly, did you learn _nothing _when you worked for Conners?"

"You worked for Conners?!" The voice was Elisabeth's, and both men turned to her in surprise. She'd been so quiet; her presence had been all but forgotten. "Are you insane?! And who is this guy, I don't trust him at all!"

"Look, it doesn't matter who I did or didn't work for! What matters is that Hannah is in the basement of some factory, and we don't even know if she's alive!"

Elisabeth was on her feet, some of the color returning to her face as she glared first at Bolt and then at Spot, "How do we even know she's really there. How do _you_ know?!"

"I have…" Spot glanced at Bolt for a moment before turning back to the girl, "connections. And you don't have to trust me at all if you don't want to." Spot nodded at the door, his eyes daring her to leave,  
"There's the door."

Elisabeth glared back, but her feet remained rooted to the ground, "I'm not leaving until I figure out where Hannah is."

"She's not dead." Spot's words seemed to slice through the tension in the room, and both Bolt and Elisabeth, stared at him in silence.

Bolt was the first to find his voice, and he used it, glaring at Spot, "How do you know?"

"Like I said… I have connections," Spot shrugged, moving past Bolt once again to return to his desk, which he leaned against.

"That's not gonna cut it Spot. What the _hell _is going on? And how do you know all this?"

Spot shrugged, "I asked. It's amazing how much Conners'll tell someone he trusts. Now will you listen to me? We're running out of time here."

Bolt's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean, we're running out of time?"

"Clear your head, Bolt. This is exactly what Conners was going for when he ordered that kidnapping. You've got to keep thinking straight, or it'll be both of you that pay the price. You've got to meet up with Johnny tonight, right? Well, this is his insurance. He knows you'll show up, now that he has Hannah."

Bolt sank into the chair opposite Spot's desk, the strength draining from his legs, "So what does this mean? I have to just leave Hannah where she is? I can't do that, I've got to go get her out of there."

"Think about it… you know she's safe, for now at least. He won't chance hurting her. He knows with her out of the picture, you'd have nothing to lose, nothing to hold you back from acting… well, rashly, shall we say."

"Okay…" Bolt said slowly, "But that's only for now. God knows what he has planned for me. He could just be waiting to kill me tonight, and then where would that leave Hannah? He'd have no use for her anymore."

"Now you're thinkin'. As far as him killing you tonight?" Spot shook his head, "I don't see it happening. If he'd wanted to kill you, he'd have done it last night. Or last week. Or when he first got out of the pen. He's got plenty of resources, there's some reason he's holding out… something he wants from you."

Bolt rubbed his forehead, "But what?"

Spot shrugged, "Got me."

"So, what about Hannah. Am I supposed to just leave her there?" Bolt glanced back up at Spot, his face looking haggard.

"No. Just because she's not hurt yet, doesn't mean she's gonna stay that way. No, we're gonna have to get her out. But you're going to have to trust me on that one."

Bolt eyed Spot, his eyes measuring the other man, "Alright, I trust you. And if anything happens to her, I'll kill you."

A smirk pulled at the corner of Spot's mouth, "That I believe." His gaze shifted back to Elisabeth, "Now, about Judge Porter…"


	19. Chapter Eighteen

_**Hi. Yeah, it's been a while. Would you like to know why? I wrote this chapter months and months ago, and promptly lost it. That's what I get for writing it in a notebook and not typing it up right away. Anyways, I was incredibly frustrated by this, and couldn't for the life of me get it out on paper again. Until now. I'm kind of glad I lost it though, because when I went back to write it again I was able to change several things and make it much better (in my opinion.) and also much longer, since this is really only half the information I got out the first go around. Anyways. Read. Enjoy. I'm sorry for the painfully long wait, but… reviews love, my friend. **_

* * *

The first thing Hannah knew when she woke up was the pounding in her head, followed shortly by the knowledge that she was being jostled quite painfully. She opened her eyes and had to fight the overwhelming urge to panic when she found she couldn't see. Her head and body was covered with a rough, itchy fabric. Burlap, maybe. Biting back a scream of absolute terror, she tried desperately to get her wits about her.

She was in the back of a cart of some sort; that much was evident. She could feel the rough wood of the boards against her hands, which were bound tightly behind her. She tried to roll over only to find her hands were not only tied together, they were also tied to the cart, preventing her from moving.

She could hear talking over the creaking and clattering of the cart against cobblestones, and she listened hard, fighting to keep her body limp so she'd still appear unconscious.

"Boss says to have her tied up and put away at Tenney's and that's just what we do, aint it, Bill?" The man's voice was rough, and Hannah flinched the slightest bit, recognizing it as the voice from the alley, the man who had knocked her out. Now that she was really listening she could hear the slur in his words, the unsteady speech of a drunken man. "That's right, Bill, you and me… we'se the best—the best Conners men there ever is—was. I'm gonna tell him so."

"Go right ahead, Frankie, I'd like to see how kindly Conners takes to that," replied the second voice, the man called Bill. His voice was steady, and oddly familiar to Hannah, though she couldn't quite place why. "Hand me that flask there, Frankie."

There was a silence for a moment, then the clattering of metal hitting the ground, followed closely by a string of expletives that made Hannah's eyebrows shoot up in shock. There were just about as impressive as the ones she'd heard from the sailors down at the docks when she was a little girl. She'd made the mistake of repeating one of them once, and had earned herself a quick swat on the behind and a decree to stay away from the docks.

"Why'd ya go 'n do that for, Billy?" whined the first man, the one identified as Frankie. His voice was whiney, and coming from much higher up than it had a moment before, "That was me best whiskey!"

"You drink any more of it and you'll be the one falling off the cart, and don't think I'd stop to get you either. Now sit back down before you really do fall out."

Frankie grumbled but must have sat down again for the two fell back into silence.

Hannah lost track of time, her head aching all the more now that she had no eavesdropping to distract herself with. Her mind clambered for an explanation… why her? The men had mentioned Conners, did they mean Joe Conners? The gangster? Hannah shuddered at the thought, before remembering she was supposed to be unconscious. She stiffened, waiting for one of the men to take notice of the movement and send her back into the dark of sleep.

Nothing happened, and after a moment Hannah continued her puzzling. What would a man like Joe Conners want with her? The answer came with a certainty that was both unsettling and undeniable.

Elijah.

* * *

Elisabeth approached the front door of Judge Porter's house, her hands shaking so hard she had to clasp them behind her to hide the fact. She reached out pressing the doorbell with an impatient finger as she waited for one of the many maids to answer.

The door was opened and a young blonde woman in a maid's uniform let her in. She smiled at the girl, recognizing her from the many other times she'd been sent by Judge Porter to collect various papers from his home office.

"Good morning, Alice. I'm just here to pick up a few papers for the judge," she said smiling, managing to keep a waver of fear out of her voice as she spoke.

"Of course, Ms. Evans, go right ahead."

Elisabeth walked towards the back of the spacious mansion, directly to Judge Porter's office, glancing around furtively as she entered the large room and closing the door behind her. She looked around for a moment, taking in the familiar smell of pipe tobacco and old books and leather, allowing it to calm her. She moved quickly to the window, sliding it open with some difficulty and poking her head out.

"I don't know about this…" she said, glancing out.

"Look, either you want to help your sister and Bolt, or you don't," replied Spot, stepping out of the shadows and up to the window, "Now step back, I'm coming in."

Elisabeth frowned at the rude boy, but did as he said, stepping away from the window as he hoisted himself up and into the room. "I want to help my sister," she hissed at him, remembering to keep her voice down, "I don't particularly care what happens to Bolt or Elijah or whatever his name is."

Spot glanced over at her, and the look in his steady gray eyes caused her to avert her gaze, "Anyway," she continued, her whisper a little weaker sounding, "it's all his fault Hannah's even in this mess."

"Maybe it is. But at least he's fighting for her. Not whining and complaining like you are," he glanced away from her, casting his gaze around the room, "Now, where did you say that safe was?"

"Over there, behind that painting," Elisabeth replied, still smarting from his words.

Spot snorted, "Classic. You'd think people like Judge Porter would wise up and stop using the same hiding place for their safes."

He lifted the painting off the wall running his hand across the cool metal of the safe before leaning his ear against his, his face the picture of concentration as he reached up and slowly twirled the dial.

Elisabeth watched him nervously, her stomach turning at the thought of being caught. She paced to the door, sneaking it open slightly to look out before shutting it as quietly as she could. "Are you sure this has to be done? I don't see how Judge Porter has anything to do with all of this. What if somebody comes in?"

Spot glared over at her, lifting his head from the safe for a moment, "Would you quit your yammerin'? And don't open that door again, 'less you _want_ to be caught. Make yourself useful, go through his drawers, see if you can find anything of any importance."

Elisabeth glared right back at him, smoothing her skirts down and lifting her chin as she walked away from the door. "And _what, _pray tell, am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Oh, for the love of— " He cut himself off, glancing back at her, "_Any_thing. Just be quiet about it, would ya?"

Elisabeth made a face at his back when he turned away from her again, circling around Judge Porter's large mahogany desk. She grasped the handle on one of the drawers tugging at it only to find it wouldn't budge. Elisabeth glared down at the drawer, as if it somehow were the cause of all of her problems, and heaved back on it with all of her might. The drawer gave way suddenly, popping out with such a force it slammed into her knee, the bottom falling out with a clatter, along with a small black book.

Elisabeth's eyes widened at the noise, and Spot whirled around, looking like he was about ready to kill her.

"Sorry," Elisabeth whispered meekly, glancing down at the still full drawer in her hand. How was it still full? Her forehead creased as she felt along the bottom, which was still intact on the drawer. "Uh—Spot?"

"What?!" Spot growled, whipping around to look at her, "I swear, they're going to have a lot more to worry about than one Evans girl's life if you don't—"

Elisabeth cut him off, stooping to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground, "I think I found something important."

He narrowed his eyes at her, crossing the room quickly and taking the book, his eyes falling across the still full drawer and the square of wood that was lying on the ground. "A false bottom," he muttered mostly to himself, opening the black volume carefully.

The book was overstuffed with clippings and papers and receipts practically spilling out of it, and Spot flipped carefully through them as Elisabeth watched on nervously. "Well?"

"Well, what? This is perfect; you want a cookie or something for your work?"

Elisabeth huffed, crossing her arms across her chest, "Well! A thank you wouldn't be out of place you know!"

Spot flapped his hand in her direction, as if he couldn't be bothered with such things, his eyes still on the small book. "Alright, great," he finally said, snapping the book closed again and placing it on the desk before turning back to the safe. "Now, just sit there and be quiet. Before you get us both caught."

Elisabeth opened her mouth to retort, but snapped it shut as she thought better of it. However much she disliked him, she had a sneaking suspicion this Spot character could carry out any threats he might utter, and she had no desire to find out for sure.

She lowered herself into Judge Porter's chair, rubbing her knee and pouting. It had _hurt_ slamming her knee into that drawer, but did she get any sympathy? No, she just got lectured for being too loud.

She watched Spot curiously as he focused on the safe, his eyes closed in concentration as he listened for… something. Elisabeth didn't know exactly what it was he was doing over there, but she supposed it was some way to get into the safe. There was a slight click followed by a cocky smirk on Spot's face as he pulled away from the safe, pulling the handle and opening it easily.

Elisabeth shook her head in disdain, she was certainly not impressed by this show of thievery. He rifled through the contents of the safe, pulling out a fat envelope and looking quite pleased with the contents as he glanced inside. He shoved the envelope in his pocket, before returning to his search. He looked through various folders placing some carefully back into the safe and pulling others out and stacking them in a pile on the desk, next to the black book. Elisabeth didn't dare interrupt him as he worked, though she was getting impatient.

After a few more minutes of sorting she said, "This is taking too long. I was just supposed to be picking up a case file, Judge Porter's going to know it's been too long. He'll know it's me."

Spot glanced up at her, "Well, I think you're going to have to resign yourself to the fact that you're not working for Judge Porter any more. If things go as planned, he's going to be spending quite a bit of time on the other side of the bars."

"Other side of the—Jail?! You mean jail!" Elisabeth stood, her eyes wide as she stared at the man.

"Course I mean jail! Whadya think we were just taking him for a walk in Central Park? He's a dirty judge, Elisabeth, not some saint in a black robe." He dropped one of the folders he'd been holding in front of her, pointing to the page, "Take a look at this. This is just one of the deals he made with Conners, and Conners is just one of the men he worked with."

Elisabeth stared down at the papers, her eyes scanning the information laid out in black and white. There were pages and pages of documentation on Joe Conners, evidence to several crimes, including two murders. "Oh my God."

"Yeah," Spot replied, snapping the folder closed again and putting it back in his stack, "Conners was paying Porter off, keeping him quiet about all these little tidbits. There was more to it than that, but we don't really have time for all that. I've got what I need. I'm going back out the window, hand me this stuff when I get out."

Elisabeth nodded, still too shocked to argue about anything as he crawled back out the window. She handed him the stack of folders, and he shoved them all into a black canvas bag he'd left outside, along with the black book that had been in the drawer. "I'll meet you out front," he said as she started to close the window. "Hey, don't forget the case files. The maid thought you were picking them up remember?"

Elisabeth nodded, her throat completely dry as she closed the window the rest of the way, picking up the files and clutching them to her as she walked as steadily as she could back to the front door. She smiled shakily at Alice, bidding her goodbye before trotting quickly down the front steps, her eyes searching the crowds for Spot.

He was beside her in a minute, the bag slung over his shoulder, and his hand wrapped around her elbow as he hurried her down the street.

"Now what?" Elisabeth asked, feeling sick to her stomach as she thought about how many laws she'd just broken.

"Now you go back to the Glass Factory and wait. That's all you need to worry about."

"But what are you going to do?" She asked, looking at him with fear in her eyes.

"I'm going to make sure you get to the Factory in one piece, and then I'm going to go find your sister." Spot replied, his eyes never once stopping their ceaseless search of the streets. Elisabeth didn't know what he was looking for, but she wished he would stop. It was making her nervous.


End file.
